Breaking Through the Ice
by Please Don't Hold Back
Summary: Shassie. Set directly after the Season One finale. Carlton, troubled at finding out everyone thought he was nuts, elicits Shawn's help in becoming normal. That one mistake leads to dozens more.
1. Carlton Gets Crazy

Disclaimer: Oh, I think you can guess, but just in case you can't...I do not own Psych, nor am I making any money off them (that's USA Network's department, my friend). So in case you were thinking about suing, please reconsider.

Pairing: **Shawn/Lassiter** (and I'm going to attempt to make it as canon as possible…cross your fingers for me)

Summary: Carlton Lassiter seemed much too troubled during the ending scene in the finale of season one; I couldn't just leave him like that. Carlcentric  
Notes: This is a story I started writing after the first season's finale that I never finished. Originally it was posted to my LiveJournal account. Now, it's my hope to finish it here. :)

Spoilers:

 **Poker? I Barely Know Her**

 **Scary Sherry: Bianca's Toast**

 **Breaking Through The Ice**

 **Chapter One: Carlton Gets Crazy**

 **Days After The Season One Finale (Scary Sherry):**

This was a bad idea. No, scratch that, this was a _very_ bad idea. This might have been the worst idea he had ever had in his entire life. But what other choice did he have? Did people really view him like he viewed Goochberg? Did people really think he was that much of a lunatic? But he didn't care what other people thought; he never had. He was a police officer; he was the law. The job didn't require people's approval.

And yet, if he really was as much of a lunatic as that woman … well … god … he couldn't stand the thought. He hated thinking he was like that. It was a weird feeling; he had never really hated himself before. Well, to be fair, he had never thought much on it. But he skipped over the angst; he wasn't some delinquent teenager for Christ's sake.

There had to be a better solution than this though. He could just get a transfer; start over. He didn't have to be Head Detective; he would take whatever position was offered. Oh god, he _loved_ being Head Detective; it gave him a rush to just voice his title. The fact that he would give it up so easily showed him just how pathetic of a situation he was in. Thinking on it more however … moving wouldn't change anything. He'd be the same lunatic no matter where he was. Well, thank god for that, he would have hated to give up his position. And he would have too, if that might have changed things.

Wow … he hadn't even given up his position for his wife … this was big. Well, obviously this was big. What he was about to do showed that much. I mean, shit, look at what he was doing.

Was it worth it? Oh … oh, god … it was. It was worth it. Yeah, this was big.

BTTI

"Got a date tonight," Shawn bragged as soon as he stepped into the Psych agency and noticed that Gus was already there.

"With that girl at checkout counter two yesterday?" Gus asked, knowing the answer would be yes.

"Nope," Shawn answered, surprising his friend as he plopped into a chair and waited for some more guesses.

"The woman who hired you to find her cat last week?" Gus guessed, less sure of the answer this time.

"Would you be willing to bet on that?" Shawn asked smugly.

"Well … not seventy-five thousand dollars …"

"Oh, are we still talking about that?" Shawn interrupted in an outraged voice, "Anybody could have made the same mistake."

"No one but you is dumb enough to bet all that money at once, Shawn," Gus accused, bringing up the subject yet again.

"Don't you want to know who I have a date with?" Shawn asked, not at all put off by Gus's complaints.

"Who do you have a date with?" Gus asked, not really caring at this point. He was still stuck on the money … all the money that could have been theirs. That seventy-five thousand dollars would have had them set for a good while. It could have done so much. They could have kept their noses out of police cases for a good chunk of time. Gus snorted at himself. Yeah, like Shawn would ever do that.

"Lassi," Shawn said, unknowingly interrupting Gus's thoughts.

Gus was silent for a moment as his mind sat completely blank. "No, you don't."

"Yes, I do," Shawn insisted, seemingly untroubled by Gus's reaction.

"You're straight," Gus pointed out, grasping out sentences his mind was trying to hide from him.

"I know."

"Lassiter's straight."

"It can be assumed so, yes."

"Shawn, two straight men cannot go on a date together," Gus said, finally finding the sentence he was looking for.

"Yes they can."

"No, Shawn, they can't."

"You've gone out with a guy before," Shawn pointed out with a shrug.

"No I haven't," Gus argued, twisting his face to express both disgust and surprise.

"In tenth grade," Shawn insisted. "His name was Charlie. You went on a date with him every Friday night."

"I met with Charlie to play chess, Shawn. They weren't dates," Gus disputed.

"Gus, you expect me to believe you spent every single one of your Friday nights in sophomore year playing chess? Oh, that's just … so sad."

"Why did you ask Lassiter out on a date?" Gus asked, giving in, wanting to get out of the Gus-is-a-nerd territory.

"I didn't. He asked me," Shawn corrected, looking … what was it? Smug?

"Lassiter asked you out on a date?" Gus asked, not believing a word of it. Even the question seemed ludicrous. He tried again, hoping it sounded more realistic, "Carlton Lassiter asked you out on a date?" Wow, that just made it even more surreal.

"Well, the word 'date' wasn't actually said-"

Oh, that was better. That made it a little bit better, not tremendously better, but at least he knew his best friend and the Head Detective weren't planning ways to get to second base with one another. Ew … that thought was going to haunt him for quite awhile.

"-But he did ask me out to dinner. I get to pick the restaurant," Shawn finished; oblivious to the fact that Gus had tuned him out.

But Shawn was like that. Shawn was open. Shawn was secure with his sexuality. He made gay jokes, but he was straight. Hell, he made gay references about the two of them all the time. That was just Shawn. And even if Shawn was gay, Lassiter was not the type of man he would get a crush on.

And Lassiter was definitely straight. There wasn't a straighter man on the planet.

It was just dinner. Lassiter probably just wanted to yell at Shawn and Shawn was just messing around like always. There was nothing to freak out about.

"Gus? Gus? You with me Buddy?" Shawn's voice asked, snapping Gus out of his thoughts.

"Y-yeah. I'm good."

"Are you jealous because I'm going out with Lassi and not you?" Shawn joked, "Don't worry Gus, you know I love you. We'll go out some other time, I promise."

"Would you just get out of here?" Gus asked, "Don't you have to go on your date?"

"No, I have another hour before Lassi comes to pick me up. It would have been a nice exit though," Shawn replied before picking up the television remote and starting to flip through channels.

BTTI

This was going to be easy. Carlton tried to convince himself of that fact as he slipped on his suit jacket and straightened his tie. All he had to do was learn to relax. And what person was more relaxed than Spencer? So he would go out to eat with Spencer, watch his moves, try to be more like him, try to be more relaxed, become more likable, and hopefully come off less like a lunatic.

Holy shit … he was actually coming to Shawn Spencer for help. Whether the man was aware of it or not, he was. This situation was beyond pitiful. Of course, if Spencer really was a psychic then he would know Carlton was seeking him out for help. No, don't even think that way. Spencer was not a psychic, no damn way.

Carlton glanced at himself one more time in the mirror before he left. Was this all right? No, something was wrong. Right, got it: Spencer didn't wear suits. But … Carlton didn't own jeans … No wait, O'Hara was likeable enough and she wore suits. It wasn't the suits; the suits were fine. But O'Hara didn't always wear suits. Okay, he'd buy some jeans later, but if he spent the time now he'd be late.

He glanced around, checking his pockets. He had his wallet, his keys … should he bring his firearm? His eyes spotted it on the table at the same moment as his hand felt the empty space where it should have been. He brought his firearm everywhere, but that was the old Carlton; that was Carlton the Lunatic. What would Spencer do? He wouldn't bring it. But Spencer didn't have a damn ounce of sense. Okay, calm down. This was just going to be a pleasant evening. Who was he going to be shooting at? No one, that's right. Spencer wouldn't bring a firearm with him, neither would O'Hara, and neither would Carlton the Sane.

Without another thought Lassiter went out to his car and began the drive to Spencer's Psychic Detective Agency, all throughout the car ride reminding himself that he needed to relax.

BTTI

"Where are you going?" Gus asked, breaking the comfortable silence between the two men.

"I thought we'd go see a musical," Shawn replied with a sarcastic dreamy expression on his face.

"Can you ever be serious?" Gus asked, already irritated at the conversation.

"I thought we'd go to Billy's," Shawn said, giving his real answer.

"Billy's?" Gus asked, surprised. "That isn't really Lassiter's type of place, is it?"

"Gus, I'm the one that has a date with the guy. I think I would know what I was doing. He told me to pick a restaurant I'd normally eat at," Shawn explained.

"Shawn, you haven't eaten at Billy's in years," Gus replied.

"But I've been meaning to," Shawn countered.

"Billy's?" Gus asked, "The place that has comics on the tabletops and the waiters dressed as clowns and the lollipop centerpieces?"

"You've gotta love the lollipop centerpieces," Shawn said as his answer.

"We stopped going to Billy's when we were ten Shawn. You can't seriously expect Lassiter to eat at that kind of restaurant."

"First off Gus, _you_ stopped going to Billy's when you were ten, not _we_. Second off, Lassiter insisted it be a place I was completely comfortable with and I like Billy's."

Gus's reply was interrupted by Lassiter's car pulling up on the street.

"He's here," Shawn announced, jumping up from his chair and stretching before he went out to meet Lassiter at his car.

Gus stood where he was as his best friend slammed the door shut behind him. Was this going to turn out badly? Knowing Shawn, if it didn't hell would be very cold.

BTTI

"Hey Lassi," Shawn greeted happily as he climbed into the passenger's seat.

"Spencer," Carlton greeted with clenched teeth, still telling himself to calm down. "Where am I going?"

"Billy's" Shawn answered, giving nothing else away with his expression.

"Is that the restaurant with the clowns?" Carlton asked, already knowing the answer would be 'yes'. His niece had a birthday party at Billy's once … or maybe it was a nephew. No, that wasn't right. He never talked to his family enough to know that. Ah, it was his neighbor's snot-nosed kid's birthday party. That was back in his old house, when he was still happily married. Well, apparently not happily … he had thought so, but normally happily married couples don't get divorces.

"You've gotta love the clowns. Did you know that I've always had a soft spot for balloon animals? … Ever since I can remember," Shawn answered, knowing that they wouldn't be eating at Billy's now.

"No, I didn't," Carlton answered, stalling for time. God, Carlton hated clowns … and kids … and parents … well … and most people in general … but the people he hated most were clowns, kids, and parents. But then that was why people thought he was a lunatic, right? That was why people didn't like him, right? Did normal people like clowns? … And runny-nosed kids? … And obnoxious parents? Well, Spencer did, and people liked Spencer. Spencer wasn't a lunatic. God, Spencer claimed he was a psychic and had seizures every time he had a so-called vision and he still wasn't considered a lunatic. He didn't know _why_ people liked Spencer, but they did. He didn't know what made people think Spencer was even a little sane, but they did. Okay, he could do this. He dealt with murder and got paid for it. This wouldn't be that difficult. "Is it on Roosevelt?" he asked, already starting to take off.

"Lincoln, actually," Shawn corrected, surprised that Lassi was going to go sit in a restaurant full of clowns and kids and parents. Lucky for him he hid it excellently and Lassiter didn't seem to notice anything odd.

Lincoln, right. He should have guessed; he hated most buildings on Lincoln. He was starting to think it might have been the President he hated so much. But it did have a good shoe store. Only problem was it was in between a playground and a pregnancy store. God, he hated pregnant woman … less than kids, but more than Lincoln (the ex-president). … A lot more than Lincoln. He only went to that shoe store once before he vowed never to go anywhere near Lincoln (the road) again. Now he was breaking that vow in order to get people to like him more. God, he was pathetic.

"Oh, oh, right there. Park right there," Shawn directed, pointing to an uninhibited parking space along Lincoln.

Carlton took the advice, noting that it wasn't even five yards from Billy's. Well, at least he didn't have much of a chance of running into anyone to hate on his walk inside. He was snapped out of his thoughts when his door opened without his guidance. He was reaching for his gun before he even realized that he hadn't brought it with him. Damn, he really should have.

"You coming or not?" Shawn asked, holding the door open; he was already on the street. When had that happened?

Carlton nodded, trying to snap himself out of his thoughts. Now was a time for watching and observing, not thinking and contemplating. He pulled himself out of his seat and onto the street; Shawn shutting his car door behind him.

"Wait, Lassi stop," Shawn commanded, grabbing the other man's arm before they walked another step. "That guy's going to steal that woman's purse," he predicted, pointing out the two people. He could see it clearly. The man was obviously following her, waiting for the right moment.

Before Carlton could accuse Spencer of being a fake psychic the man had grabbed the woman's purse and rushed passed them. Spencer jumped right into action with Carlton quickly following suit. The Head Detective instantly reached for his gun on instinct again before he remembered that he left it at home for the second time in less than a minute. Damn, he _really_ should have brought it.

Fortunately, Shawn was used to not depending on a gun. He had other ideas. They weren't well thought out, but they were ideas none-the-less. As soon as he was close enough to the purse-snatcher he lunged at his feet, making the criminal trip and making Shawn land head first onto the sidewalk.

Damn, Carlton didn't bring his cuffs either. He didn't think that normal people would bring them to dinner. Shit. "Spencer, you okay?"

"Yeah." Shawn's answer was a little muffled, but he sounded okay enough.

"Get a better hold on him, I'm going to call the police department."

"Oh, I already did that, sir," said … oh God … a pregnant woman.

"Thank you," Carlton said with a tight smile, trying to hide his irritation. Spencer was nice to everyone. He had to be more like him.

"Thank you so much for getting my purse back," another woman said. It was the woman whose purse was stolen, and, oh look, she had a kid. Well, wasn't this fun. "If there's anything I could do to repay you …"

"No need," Carlton insured when really he wanted to say 'I'll be repaid enough if you just leave me alone.' But he never said that. He knew better. He may have been a lunatic, but he would never purposefully make a bad name for the station.

"Really, sir, I mean it, anything, just name it. If it's in my power …" the woman insisted. God, what would make her leave?

"It's part of the job title, ma'am," Carlton answered before he realized that she didn't know he was a police officer. In a desperate attempt to stop a conversation about careers from forming he directed the attention to Spencer. "Spencer, you okay? You hit the sidewalk hard. Let me see your face."

Shawn heard a police siren as he lifted his face up to meet Lassiter's gaze.

"Jesus," Carlton grumbled when he saw Spencer's face. One more thing he had to do. The left side of the guy's face was a bloody mess. It didn't look _too_ bad though. It was probably just a lot of small cuts. It'd be fine once his face was wiped down. Well, one good thing about a playground was that there was always a first aid station nearby.

"Come on Spence," Carlton commanded, getting up and grabbing Spencer's elbow to pull the other man up with him. The police officer was already strapping the purse-napper in handcuffs; there was nothing else to be done. He walked off towards the first aid station, not letting go of Spencer's elbow and not bothering to say anything to the pregnant woman or the woman with the child.

Shawn grinned when he looked back at the two women. He waved, trying to say 'your welcome' and 'it was no biggie' without actually saying it as he was dragged off to somewhere that wasn't Billy's. "Uh, Lassi, you're going the wrong way."

"We're going to first aid," Carlton bit out, not explaining anymore and not needing to. Yeah, this was a bad idea. As he glared at all the brats in his way and successfully scared them off he idly wondered how much Spencer would bug him if he just shoved the other man to the ground, ran to his car, and drove home. … And if all of Spencer's jokes about it later would be worth the avoided dinner. Probably not. But already Carlton knew he would never do this again.

Shawn couldn't see. Blood was in his eyes and he was starting to see stars. Stumbling should have been expected, but not as much as he was doing. "Ah, Lassi, I think … ah … something's wrong," he got out before he fell into blackness.

"Damn it," Carlton swore. A concussion; grade three. He'd have to go to the hospital now. Well, the first aid station was still a good place to start. Damn, didn't Spencer know the warning signs for a concussion?

Carlton swung around, only now realizing the problem in getting Spencer to the first aid station. He still held the fake psychic's elbow, but the rest of the other man's body was crumbled to the ground. How much did Spencer weigh? Would he be able to carry him? It wasn't too far. Okay, best way to do this would be to just pick him up in a fireman carry. Yeah, he could do this.

And he did … easily. Spencer was surprisingly lightweight. The best part of it was that the brats got out of his way faster than before. Maybe he should carry Spencer everywhere. Yeah, build up muscles and scare kids away. Of course, Spencer would have to be unconscious the entire time. He couldn't stand carrying him if the man could talk. God, he got a headache just thinking about it.

"Oh my God! Is he alright?" the woman in the first aid station asked as soon as she saw Carlton carrying Spencer. Oh, thank God, she was neither pregnant nor was there a kid anywhere near her.

"Concussion," Carlton answered, laying Spencer down on about ten or fifteen chairs. It didn't work too well. They were made especially for small children and only supported a half-side of Spencer.

"I'm sorry. Would it be too much trouble if you held him?" the first aid attendant asked. "I'm afraid we're not too used to getting adults in here."

Carlton picked Spencer back up (this time bridal style, much to Carlton's disgust), trying not to glare at the woman. Spencer really wasn't heavy and there wouldn't be any problem as long as he didn't wake up. And … oh look … he was waking up. Wasn't that fantastic?

"Hey Lassi," Shawn mumbled. "I can't feel my legs."

The first aid attendant was immediately alarmed "Can you feel this?" she asked, poking his leg.

"Oh, there's my leg. I thought it was below me. Okay, I can feel it fine now," Shawn answered groggily. He raised his head up slightly, looking across at where his leg was lying across from him and smiled. "Hello Leg," he greeted happily, "I thought you had left me … left leg left me … Was that a pun?"

"State your name," the first aid attendant instructed.

"Well that's rude. Manners say you have to introduce yourself first," Shawn replied, still sounding groggy.

The first aid attendant looked at Carlton, silently asking what to do. Carlton just shrugged; as if he knew how to handle Shawn Spencer.

"My name's Maria Nimpha," the attendant introduced. "Now it's your turn. What's your name?"

"Shawn Spencer," Shawn answered without hesitation. He had already known the first aid attendant's name; he had seen her nameplate on her desk the moment he woke up. He had just stalled so he could have the time to think about what _his_ name was. Luckily he had remembered in time. Things were starting to come back to him though. And he had known who Lassiter was right away, that was good, right?

"Where are you?" Maria asked as she wet a cloth at the sink and began gently wiping the blood off of her patient's face.

Shawn took a quick look around while making sure both Lassiter and Maria registered it. "In a first aid station."

Again Maria shifted her gaze to Carlton, as if blaming him for her Shawn's answers.

"Damn it Spencer, answer the question," Carlton demanded. He wanted to get out of here. He wanted to go home. When the hell did he ever think this might have been a good idea?

"Are we still going to dinner?" Shawn asked, ignoring Lassiter's frustrations in favor of enjoying himself.

"I will pay for your God damn dinner if you just answer the God damn questions," Carlton bargained. He was never good at negotiating. He got too irritated too quick.

"Santa Barbara," Shawn answered. "Can we get out of here soon? I'm hungry."

"What day of the week is it?" Maria asked, ignoring Shawn's questions as she cleared the last traces of blood off his face.

"My question first," Shawn demanded, jokingly even though it did have a certain serious edge to it.

"Spencer!" Carlton interrupted, reminding the psychic of the deal. God, here he was holding Shawn Spencer and he was actually purposefully bringing attention to himself.

"Wednesday," Shawn answered, not used to not getting his way.

"Who's the President?" Maria asked, dropping the now bloody cloth in the sink.

"A complete idiot," Shawn answered. "Done?" He wiggled, trying to make Lassiter let go of him, but it wasn't doing much good.

And yet again Maria looked up at Carlton, blaming him for what Shawn was saying.

"That's not a correct answer?" Carlton asked. He had to admit it, that particular joke was funny. He wouldn't be admitting it to anyone but himself anytime soon though. "Is he okay or should I take him to the hospital?"

"Obviously taking him to the hospital would be the safest choice. You can probably afford to eat first though. Just make sure to take it easy. You could be in some serious trouble if he bumps his head again," Maria said as she opened her door and let them outside. "Make sure to go to the hospital when you're done with dinner," she called out as a reminder.

"Lassi, you know, I appreciate you carrying me but-"

"Right," Carlton interrupted before the other man could burst into one of his speeches in order to listen to himself talk. He let go of Spencer's legs and relieved himself of the extra weight his arms had been holding for far too long.

"Thanks Lassi," Shawn said, stopping when he realized he had nothing else to say. There was a reason Lassiter had asked him to dinner. That would have been obvious to anyone. The real question was 'what was it'? Shawn couldn't figure it out and it was starting to frustrate him. Well, if worse came to worse he could always blame the fact that he couldn't figure it out on the concussion.

And luckily the walk wasn't a long one. Soon clown waiters and noisy kids and angry parents interrupted the slightly awkward silence. Though Shawn was sad to learn that they no longer had comics on their tabletops. But maybe that was a good thing. It might have been one of those last straw things for Lassiter. He was looking pretty uncomfortable.

TBC


	2. Carlton Gets Kidnapped

Disclaimer: Oh, I think you can guess, but just in case you can't...I do not own Psych, nor am I making any money off them (that's USA Network's department, my friend). So in case you were thinking about suing, please reconsider.

Pairing: **Shawn/Lassiter** (and I'm going to attempt to make it as canon as possible…cross your fingers for me)

Summary: Carlton Lassiter seemed much too troubled during the ending scene in the finale of season one; I couldn't just leave him like that. Carlcentric  
Notes: This is a story I started writing after the first season's finale that I never finished. Originally it was posted to my LiveJournal account. Now, it's my hope to finish it here. :)

 **Breaking Through The Ice**

 **Chapter Two: Carlton Gets Kidnapped**

Carlton would have given anything for some aspirin. He should have known that with Spencer he'd want some. The fake psychic just kept on talking and talking … there was no end. And on the very rare occasions when there was an end it was due to the silence that followed an awkward question that Carlton didn't know how to answer.

"What's your favorite Broadway Musical?" Shawn asked before motioning to a clown and pointing to a dessert he wanted.

Finally a question that wasn't completely awkward. Unfortunately he wasn't very up-to-date with musicals. Actually, he had never seen a musical in his life. Music was good; theater was … not terrible (and that was being generous); but put the two together and you got a complete nightmare every time. "I don't watch musicals," Carlton answered, deciding to keep the rest of his thoughts silent like he usually did.

"Why not? Is it because you don't like them? Or do you find them 'gay' and you're not very secure in your sexuality ever since your … separation?"

Ah, there was the awkward part of the conversation. He really didn't want to talk about his wife … ex-wife … whatever it he was supposed to think of her as now. After two years he still hadn't quite sorted through all the lingering feelings. It was actually something he avoided quite adamantly.

"I don't like them," Carlton answered, fighting hard to not strangle the other man. Maybe it was good he hadn't brought his gun. It wouldn't look good if the Head Detective of the Santa Barbara Police Department was found guilty of murdering the Santa Barbara Police Department's Unofficial Fake Psychic.

"Yeah? I don't either. Music's excellent … most anyway … maybe not rap. I've never been a real big fan of rap music. The Redwalls are more my thing … and Sister Hazel's pretty good. Anyway, theater's good too, you know. I never object to the theater. It's, well … it's the theater, and who could say 'no' to that? But the two together aren't a very good idea. Though I do enjoy Phantom of the Opera from time to time."

Carlton blinked, not saying anything. Oh my good Lord in Heaven, he agreed with Shawn Spencer on something. He took five seconds to voice his opinion while Spencer took a good ten minutes but they actually _agreed_ on something. Damn, this dinner was such a bad idea. He really wanted to go his entire life without knowing he and Spencer shared an interest, or rather a disinterest. It was just as bad either way.

"How do you feel about Cats?"

"Hate them," Carlton answered without hesitation. His ex-wife had to get rid of her cats before he even considered letting her move in with him.

"I'm sorry. Are we talking about the musical or the felines?"

"Doesn't matter. Hate them both," Carlton replied, making his answers as short as possible. He really needed some aspirin right now.

"See, the musical itself was pretty much crap, I agree with you there, but I do rather enjoy the idea of women dressed up as cats and dancing around. It might be better in a strip club, but I look at myself as an optimist of sorts," Shawn said, thanking a clown with a nod of his head when the slice of cake he ordered was given to him. "By the way, is there anything you don't hate?"

He certainly didn't hate aspirin. "I don't hate O'Hara," Carlton said. … Especially when he compared her to Goochberg.

"And O'Hara is the only thing . ..or person … you don't hate?" Shawn asked, slightly disappointed that it was Jules that Lassiter decided to say he didn't hate. … Especially since it was Lassiter's partner that had lost him his house. Didn't he hold a grudge?

"I don't hate guns, I don't hate fishing, I don't hate my job, I don't hate-"

"Point taken. Do you want some of this cake? You're paying for it."

Carlton paused for a minute. The atmosphere had changed. When something similar happened with his wife he always found out he was sleeping on the couch as soon as he got home. It kept happening again and again and he never did find out what he had done wrong in even one of the instances.

He definitely did something wrong now though. But what? Shawn knew that he liked guns and fishing and his job … that wasn't anything new. Was it farther back than that when the atmosphere changed? Was it that he said he liked O'Hara? Well, that was taking things a little too far. He didn't like O'Hara. He didn't _hate_ O'Hara, but he sure didn't like her either. The damn woman lost him his house for Christ's sake. And she wasn't focused enough. And she was always helping Spencer. She annoyed him greatly, but she was still a great improvement compared to Goochberg.

People actually thought he was like that woman. Wait, enough of that thinking. He had to keep reminding himself he wasn't in high school anymore. Jesus. Why did it suddenly seem like he was an angst-ridden teenager all over again?

"Yeah. Okay," Carlton answered, getting up from his side of the booth and sitting next to Spencer so he could get at the cake better. "Hey," he said, grabbing a clown's arm, "We need another fork over here." The clown nodded, dashing off. He was out of sight before Spencer had cleared enough room for Carlton to sit.

"Your fork, Sir," a Clown said, handing the fork to Carlton. Well, they may have been clowns, but they were some damn good waiters.

Carlton took the fork and stuck it into the cake before he noticed the clown was still there. "What the hell do you want? A tip? Get out of here," he commanded shoving the clown off before he took a bite of cake.

"Do you like it?" Shawn asked as he saw Lassiter's face and assumed 'no'.

"That's the most disgusting thing I've ever eaten. Is it supposed to taste like that?" Carlton asked, putting his fork down and getting back over to his side of the booth.

"Maybe the clowns knew you hated them and purposely made the cake taste bad," Shawn suggested, knowing it would make sense because of the way the clown had stayed at the table … waiting … smiling. "Do you want to order another one?" Well at least he hadn't eaten any. Judging from Lassiter's expression it tasted like vomit.

"I've had enough thanks," Carlton passed. At least his headache had gone away; replaced by the awful taste in his mouth. And the awkward uncomfortableness was gone; perhaps he just imagined it. Though why he'd be thinking about his wife and sleeping on the couch while having dinner with Spencer was confusing. Oh well, it was best not to think about it. His headache had just gone and he really didn't want it returning anytime some.

"Yeah? Well, suit yourself. Do you have the receipt yet? I'm about ready to leave. What about you Lassi?"

Leave? Damn, he was too busy being annoyed by the other man to observe him relaxing. He'd have to do this again. But he had already established that this was a bad plan. He would just have to observe someone else. Sure, other people weren't as relaxed as Spencer, but they weren't as annoying either. He could just take cues from O'Hara; she was likeable and relaxed enough. That way he could observe her on the field and wouldn't have to treat anyone else to dinner. "Yeah. I'm ready."

"Oh, hey, you wouldn't mind dropping me off at the hospital, would you? I don't want to deal with Gus freaking out about a possible concussion."

"That's fine," Carlton shrugged. The hospital was on his way and just about a minute longer than the Psych Detective Agency so it wasn't a big deal. He reached for the receipt and his wallet. Alright, not a completely awful dinner. It was pretty damn bad, but not completely awful.

Shawn rose from the booth and stretched a little, putting on a small show of it.

Carlton threw his money on the table in a rush to leave. No reason to make a pretty-damn-bad-dinner a completely-awful dinner, and it still could be; he was quite aware of that fact. "We ready?" he asked as nicely as he could.

"Yep, let's get out of here." He walked ahead, making sure he held the front door open for Lassiter.

"You coming?" Shawn asked. He had jumped ahead of the detective and gotten Lassiter's car door open for him but the other man had stopped moving. Oh … oh this was bad.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Carlton said quietly, trying as hard as possible not to draw attention to himself. Damn, he _really, really_ should have brought his gun.

"You're being held at gunpoint," Shawn barely whispered, catching a corner of the thin man that was behind Lassiter. He froze as he felt the barrel of a gun at the back of his neck as well.

"Let's go for a little ride," said one of the gunmen. "Get in the car as naturally as possible; you draw attention and we shoot."

"Nice guess, Spence," Carlton whispered in regard to the fake psychic's observation about the gunmen.

"Oh my God. Lassi, Buddy, we're being held at gunpoint here and you still have to make sure I know you think I'm not a psychic?" Shawn complained in a whisper, needing to have the last word.

"Hey, Psychic," the same gunman said, interrupting the conversation. "You get the passenger's seat. Go around and get in. If you run or call for help your friend here's dead."

"Right. Got it. Roger," Shawn answered, going around and climbing into the passenger's side. "You know," he said as soon as he shut the door, "I feel like I belong in this seat. On the way here I sat in the same seat, you see. And it is rather comfortable, but then again this is really the only seat I've been in so maybe it's not the seat so much as the whole feel of the car itself."

"You better shut up unless you want to be found dead on the interstate. Believe me when I say they won't recognize the body," a gunman said. Whether it was the same gunman that spoke the last two times or the other one, Shawn wasn't entirely sure. He had gotten them mixed up when he had switched positions.

Wait, that sort of thing never happened to him. …The concussion. It must be messing with his observation skills. He had never heard of that happening, but then again, how many people could get others to think they're psychic? Well if that was the case he was in trouble. He depended on the ability, just like Lassiter depended on his gun. …The gun Lassiter didn't have right now. Shawn wasn't quite sure as to the reason why Lassi didn't have it, but he was confident that he didn't. He was actually starting to get a bit scared.

"Hey man," he complained as one of the gunmen tied a blindfold around his eyes without consulting him first. Then his mouth was gagged, then his hands tied, then his feet. Lastly he was pushed to the floor and his struggle was met with a gruff "Stay down" and oh … there was chloroform on the cloth that gagged him. He really should have noticed that before now. He tried one more time to get up before he was shoved back down yet again. After that it was nothing but darkness.

"You better stay still too. You wanna be shot?" a gunman asked Carlton as he struggled against the ropes they were trying to bind him with.

Carlton stopped moving, took a deep breath, and tried to calm down. "He got a concussion today, he hasn't gone to the hospital yet. You could be seriously hurting him. And he's a civilian."

"And what are you? A cop?" the same gunman asked. He backed off his prisoner. The ropes that tied his legs and arms would hold fine and now all that was left was the blindfold and the gag.

The number one rule of being a cop was that when you were being taken hostage you did not let the gunman know that you were a cop. Well … it wasn't the number one rule … but it was one of the many important rules of being a cop. If the gunman knew you were a cop he would be harder on you; he'd be more likely to kill you. It was bad ground to be on; gunmen didn't like cops much. But Spencer was hurt and he was a civilian. If Carlton purposefully made himself a bigger target would the blows given to Spencer soften? Maybe. More likely Carlton would just end up dead. All in all it wasn't one of his best ideas. So how to get out of this …

"Not a cop. I'm an American Postal Worker," Carlton lied. God, he could cringe. He had just made himself a mailman. This was definitely a completely awful night. And Spencer wasn't snickering … or talking … which meant that he was most probably unconscious … again … well that wasn't good. He wasn't exactly sure what it meant when a person with a grade three concussion fell into unconsciousness twice but he was positive that it couldn't be a good thing.

"A mailman?" the gunman scoffed. "What a big and important job you have. Why, I'm jealous."

If only Carlton had just brought his gun along. He would never leave his gun behind again. It was at that moment that he realized: he wasn't a lunatic; he never was. The only reason people thought he was insane was because people were gigantic idiots. He really should have known that by now.

* * *

"He's not answering his phone?" Karen asked, somewhat curious, but far from distressed.

"No, and he always does. Something's wrong," Juliet replied. "Maybe I should swing by his house and …"

"I'm sure he's fine O'Hara. He's probably just … out," Karen assumed, though the thought did surprise her. Lassiter didn't get out of his house unless he was on police business. But, maybe he did. She didn't really know much about his personal life … or if he even _had_ a personal life. Maybe it was just a coincidence he was always at home when he was called to the station. Okay, that wasn't likely, but she didn't really care. She wasn't one to pry. "Try his cell phone."

"Oh right. I forgot he had one," Juliet mumbled to herself before she dialed the cell phone she was holding and pressed it to her ear.

One ring.

Two rings.

And …"I'm sorry, but this number has been disconnected…" a voice said.

"Chief, something's wrong. It says that the number's been disconnected," Juliet announced, snapping her phone shut and making sure the chief saw how worried she was.

"It's probably just a problem with his cell phone company. We'll send someone out to his house to check everything out, but I'm sure he's fine. In the meantime you work on the case without him," Karen directed. If truth were told she was getting a little worried about Lassiter as well. Something about not being able to get a hold of him was really setting off alarm bells in her head. And she was a cop, first and foremost; she had learned to listen to those alarm bells early in life.

'I … I'm working this case alone?" O'Hara asked. This was a big case and she was still new. That was … Wow, that was a little overwhelming.

"Get Spencer's help if you want. He's probably around here somewhere," Karen granted, knowing the psychic's help would put O'Hara more at ease if nothing else.

Yeah, where was Shawn? Juliet guessed that he could be working on his own case, but quickly decided she might as well call to make sure.

"Psych Detective Agency," Gus's voice said on the first ring.

"Hey Gus. Can you and Shawn come down to the station? I've been handed a pretty big case, and I'm going to need a little help," Juliet asked.

"Oh, well I can come. Shawn is … ah … otherwise occupied," Gus said. He really didn't want to say Shawn was on a date, especially if they found out he was with Lassiter, but his mind was having a tough time finding another word for it. He normally didn't have a problem finding the correct words. This whole Shawn-might-be-gay thing was really starting to mess with his head.

"Oh, a case? If it's a case you don't have to …" Juliet replied, backing off.

"No, not a case. A … ah …" What was it besides a date? Come on brain: _think_. He was going to have to say it, wasn't he? Stupid brain. Stupid date. Stupid Shawn. Stupid Lassiter asking stupid Shawn out on a stupid date and messing up his stupid brain. "He's on a date … of sorts."

"Oh. Well good for him. Is it serious?" Juliet asked. Not sure if she would be happy for him if it was or not.

"God, I hope not," Gus answered before he could stop himself. "I'll get down to the station."

Juliet was stopped from asking any more questions by the dial tone.

* * *

"Hey Lassi," Shawn greeted, getting Deja Vu.

"What's your name?" Carlton asked, following the procedure the first aid attendant used. Unfortunately he wasn't sure what was supposed to happen if Shawn couldn't remember anything.

"Do we have to do this again? It's not enough that I remembered _your_ name?" Shawn asked, again stalling for time. "I didn't even hit my head this time." He knew his name this time around, that wasn't the problem. He just had to get his bearings. Oh yeah … the gunmen … kidnapped … Well, at least the damage didn't appear to be too bad.

"You were thrown around, it might have agitated whatever the concussion caused. A concussion is serious, Spencer," Carlton warned, clenching his teeth together. This whole experience was going to make his blood pressure rise drastically.

"My name's Shawn Spencer. My Father is Henry Spencer. My best friend is Burton Guster. I live in Santa Barbara. I'm a psychic. I work for the police department. I survived the turn of the millennium. The president is a moron. Did I clear the test?"

"You aren't psychic, Spencer," Carlton reminded the other man.

"Really? And yet I so clearly remember seeing visions. … Seeing visions … Is that a pun?"

"Do you even know what a pun _is_?" Carlton asked with irritation.

"Come on, Lassi, lighten up. I'm just joking around," Shawn replied, getting ready to use his hand to smack Lassiter playfully on the arm. "Hey," he said when he realized he wasn't untied, "How come they untied you and not me? That's favortism."

"They didn't untie me. I got out myself," Lassiter said, fighting hard to not punch the other man. He couldn't stand that Spencer was joking around in this type of situation. This wasn't a joke; this was real. The fact that they could die was very real and very threatening and yet Spencer still seemed to find the time to joke around.

Shawn looked down, finally noticing the blood on Lassiter's wrists. Wait … blood on Lassiter's wrists … There was no way … He couldn't have swung his arms under his legs and untied himself that way, right?

"Turns out I'm rather flexible," Carlton said stiffly when he noticed Spencer was still staring at the blood that had dried on his hands.

"I'm just missing everything," Shawn complained, turning around and allowing Lassiter to untie him. He was only conscious half the time Lassiter was carrying him and now he had missed the Head Detective trying to play jump rope with his own arms. If he was knocked out one more time he was really going to get pissed. Next he might miss Lassiter crying … or hugging someone … or maybe even laughing. Well, probably not crying. He really couldn't picture Lassiter crying. But it was a life or death situation; anything could happen. "I didn't miss anything else, did I?"

"O'Hara called," Lassiter answered, spinning Spencer back around now and leaving the other man to untie his own feet.

"Oh? What did she have to say? Any good news?" Shawn asked, happily bending down to get to his ankles.

"I don't know. One of the gunmen smashed my phone before I got a chance to answer," Carlton replied. He was planning on using that phone to call for help too. … As if he needed another reason to not like O'Hara.

"Oh," Shawn replied before his eyes widened. "Oh! Hey, I have a cell phone. We should call her back," he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his flip phone.

Oh, thank God, Spencer was good for something after all. Good thing the gunmen were too stupid to frisk them before tying them up.

"Oh. Never mind, I guess I forgot to recharge it," Shawn said as soon as he realized he couldn't turn on his phone.

Oh, well, Spencer actually was useless. On an up note the universe wouldn't be ending anytime soon.

"Hey, did the gunmen undo my blindfold and gag?" Shawn asked, just now realizing his eyes and mouth hadn't been covered when he woke up. Why would they do that? The gag was understandable because of the chloroform, but not the blindfold.

"They undid the gag; I undid the blindfold," Carlton confessed. He had thought that if Shawn didn't remember where he was he might have started to panic when he couldn't see. It'd take years of torture before he'd admit to that though.

Carly had helped him. This was what he was talking about when he said that anything could happen in a life or death situation. "You didn't hug me, did you?" Shawn asked, making sure that he hadn't missed out on yet another phenomenon.

Carlton just shot the other man a disgusted look. He did not hug. Actually, people touching him in general normally discomforted him.

"I was just making sure," Shawn mumbled. "Is it getting colder in here or is it just me? Because I'm getting a chill."

"Here," Carlton replied, taking off his suit jacket and throwing it at the other man. "Stop complaining." It was getting colder, but he was wearing long sleeves, he'd be fine. Hm, if he had worn jeans and a t-shirt like Spencer he would be cold too. Yep, he wasn't a lunatic; people were just moronic and lacked common sense.

* * *

"Why isn't Lassiter helping you on this case?" Gus asked. If he had refused because he was having dinner with Shawn … No, he wouldn't do that. Lassiter loved police work. Lassiter was married to police work. He wouldn't turn away a case for anyone.

"We can't find him. He isn't picking up his house phone and his cell phone number's been disconnected," Juliet said.

"Oh, well, just call Shawn then," Gus replied before he thought.

"I thought Shawn was on a date," Juliet said. "I'm not going to bother him so he can psychically find Lassiter. Plus, the chief's sending someone over to his house, and she's sure he's fine. It's not something important enough to interrupt Shawn's date for."

"Well … the thing is … the thing is … Lassiter's with Shawn," Gus forced out..

"Shawn actually got him to double date?" Juliet asked, not believing for one second what Gus was saying.

"No, it's just Shawn and Lassiter." Why did he have to tell the truth in the first place? He should have just lied. Oh well, it was out of his hands at this point and his brain couldn't be blamed; it had stopped being able to function a few hours ago.

Juliet blinked twice. "Lassiter agreed to a date with Shawn?"

"Shawn agreed to a date with Lassiter. Lassiter asked him to dinner." And yet he kept right on talking. Well, knowing Shawn, Juliet would have known about everything the next time she saw him anyway. The man didn't know the meaning of 'private life'.

"Oh, okay. Well, fine then. Uh, what's Shawn's cellphone number?" Juliet asked, trying to get away from the picture of Shawn and Lassiter having sex in her head. Well, some nice sex dreams tonight at least, though the thought of her partner having sex was kind of uncomfortable. They were both good-looking guys however, and neither one was someone she could picture herself with so what was the harm, right?

"779-2442" [1]

Juliet dialed the phone and waited as it went straight to voicemail. "Hey Shawn, it's Juliet. Listen; is Lassiter with you? We just got a new case at the station and he really needs to come in, but we can't get a hold of him. So if you have any idea where he is, could you point him to the station? Thanks. Bye" She hung up the phone, turning to Gus to explain. "His phone is off."

"So what's the next step?"

"We might as well get started on the case. Lassiter will come in eventually and so will Shawn. In the meantime, the faster we solve this case the better."

* * *

"I am r-r-really c-cold," Shawn complained as he tried to stop his teeth from chattering.

"It's not that cold in here Spencer," Carlton argued while he tried his best to stop himself from shivering as well.

"I think I might have hypothermia," Shawn guessed. "Carly, come here," he ordered, holding his arms out. "I need your body temperature."

Carlton looked at him disgustedly, "No Spencer, there's no way."

"Lassi, I'm freezing to death over here, and you're just going to watch me die?" Shawn asked. "You're a cop, aren't you supposed to try and save lives?"

"You aren't going to die, you don't have hypothermia, and I am not going to … hold you," Carlton claimed, saying 'hold you' like it was the most horrible suggestion he had ever heard. And, honestly, it did rank up there.

"Okay, wouldn't I know if I had hypothermia or not? I'm the one that has it; I think I would know better than you," Shawn lectured.

"Are you wet?" [2]

"Wow, Lassi, someone really needs to teach you about foreplay."

Carlton tried hard not to tackle Spencer to the ground and miraculously succeeded. His self control was magnificent. "No, Spencer, you absolute idiot. Is your _body_ wet? Are you dripping with water?" he bit out.

Shawn looked down at himself. "No."

"Can you control your shivering?"

"Yes."

"And was there ever a time when you _couldn't_?"

"No."

"Then you don't have hypothermia," Carlton concluded. Good thing he listened during all those first aid classes at the police academy.

"Fine, I don't have hypothermia, but I am cold. Freezing in fact. Come on, Lassi. Sharing body heat is the fastest way to get warm," Shawn urged, looking for anyway to warm up. "You don't want me to freeze to death, do you?"

"Spencer, unless you somehow manage to get wet chances are you won't freeze to death," Carlton assured the other man.

The next moment the fire sprinklers on the ceiling above them went off.

"Oh, what a nice twist of irony," Shawn remarked as Lassiter just sat fuming silently.

A few minutes later and they were off, but not before ensuring that the two men were soaked through their clothes.

"Now can we snuggle?" Shawn asked, still trying to keep his mind away from the fact that he might be dying soon.

"Damn it. Take your shirt off," Carlton demanded as he started unbuttoning his own.

"Carly I just want to cuddle, maybe spoon a little. I try to make it a habit not to put out on the first date, though you are cute, don't get me wrong," Shawn replied, not removing his shirt.

"Spencer, if you don't want to get hypothermia you'll take your shirt off," Carlton threatened. His shirt was already off and he was checking the label. "Wool, good," he muttered, ringing the shirt out and putting it back on.

"I told you I had hypothermia. You should really listen to me more Lassi," Shawn said, still not taking his shirt off.

"Damn it Spencer. Check your shirt label. What's it say?" Carlton asked, buttoning back up his shirt has he got up and strode over to the other man.

"I didn't realize you were so into shirts," Shawn said, slowly taking off his shirt and looking at the tag. "Machine wash warm with like colors. Only non-chlorine bleach when needed. Tumble Dry low," he read.

"The other side, Spencer," Carlton sighed.

"Right, uh, one hundred percent cotton. Made in Mexico. That's all it says. Can I put it back on now?" Shawn asked, looking up at Lassiter who was now rather close to him.

"No, leave it off," Carlton ordered, grabbing the shirt and flinging it to the other side of the room.

"I'm sorry, do you have a problem with Mexico or do you just think I look that good without a shirt?"

"You can wear the jacket," Carlton allowed, ringing out his suit jacket he had already given to Spencer and handing it to the fake psychic.

"So then it _is_ a problem with Mexico?" Shawn asked, putting on the jacket and being delighted with the warmth it provided him.

"Wet cotton increases heat loss by ninety percent," Carlton stated.

"So how come you get to keep your shirt?"

"It's wool. Wool can retain warmth even when it's wet," Carlton explained. God, he was glad he paid attention during those first aid courses.

"Wow, Lassi, you know I can probably make an exception to the putting out rule if you end up saving my life."

"Take your pants off," Carlton demanded, choosing to ignore Spencer's last comment as he started to unbutton his own pants and slip out of them.

"Whoa, Lassi-Face. Over-eagerness is a huge turn-off for me."

"Denim isn't a good fabric to wear wet in the cold either, Spencer," Carlton scolded, already out of his pants and looking at the tag. It didn't say what they were made out of. Well he'd see how well they dried and then decide what to do. He wrung them out, mopped up a place with Shawn's now useless t-shirt, and spread them out to dry. "Take off your pants, Spencer."

"Okay, now, see, pushiness is one of my turn-offs too," Shawn said, obeying. He stripped himself of his pants and threw them at Lassiter. This ploy Carly was pulling in order to sleep with him wasn't fun anymore.

TBC

[1] The 7792442 number combination on the phone can spell out 'psychic' and that's the only reason I picked that number. Please don't call it. I don't know who will answer (if anyone) but I'm willing to bet it won't be anyone who has anything to do with Psych.

[2] All the facts about hypothermia have been looked up online. The facts have been run through a series of websites and all the websites seemed to be official enough. But still, it is online, so I am sorry if some of the information is incorrect. Also, I'd like it to be known that in windy conditions these rules change.


	3. Carlton Gets Cuddled

Disclaimer: Oh, I think you can guess, but just in case you can't...I do not own Psych, nor am I making any money off them (that's USA Network's department, my friend). So in case you were thinking about suing, please reconsider.

Pairing: **Shawn/Lassiter** (and I'm going to attempt to make it as canon as possible…cross your fingers for me)

Summary: Carlton Lassiter seemed much too troubled during the ending scene in the finale of season one; I couldn't just leave him like that. Carlcentric  
Notes: This is a story I started writing after the first season's finale that I never finished. Originally it was posted to my LiveJournal account. Now, it's my hope to finish it here. :)

 **Breaking Through The Ice**

 **Chapter Three: Carlton Gets Cuddled**

"This is … genius," Gus admitted, looking through the case notes.

"Gus! These people died!" Juliet reminded him. "We try not to compliment killers."

"Hypothermia isn't a bad way to go. It's actually a very peaceful death. It's … humane," Gus explained, shrugging.

"You really shouldn't be talking about the humane ways of killing people in a police station, Gus. It's still killing," Juliet warned him. "If you're going to admire a killer in here, at least do it quietly."

"It's just so ingenious," Gus complimented in a quiet voice. "You take in captives, telling them to be calm; make no quick moves. The probability of the killers slipping up and leaving behind some DNA on their victims becomes less. Things are slow, set at a leisurely pace. They get them into a room, hose off any evidence they may have left on the victims bodies, crank down the temperature and just wait."

"Yeah, but why? Normally a serial killer's a serial killer because of some pent up aggression. But these murders have no form of aggression in them," Juliet pointed out.

"Okay, then this guy must know all of them. What did they have in common?"

"Nothing."

"Not one of these people had anything in common?" Gus asked skeptically.

"Well people had things in common, but not everyone had one thing in common. And no one seems to know the same people. It's exactly like a serial killer but without the violence. I need Lassiter," Juliet finally admitted, rubbing her forehead.

"Yeah, I need Shawn," Gus agreed.

"I'm going to keep working on the case; you go and see if you can track Shawn and Lassiter down," Juliet commanded.

* * *

"I'm not getting any warmer," Shawn complained. "Can I have my pants back?"

"No," Carlton bit out; short and to the point. He was getting too cold as well and with that cold came crankiness. "Here," he threw Shawn's blindfold at him, "wear that as a hat." He wrapped his over his head and tied it under his chin, wearing it more as a bonnet than anything else.

Shawn just snorted and put his on like a bandana. "Good thinking Lassi, I always liked role playing as a biker."

"Heat is mostly lost through the head," Carlton explained, pulling yet another disgusted face. He really didn't want to be found dead with Shawn Spencer of all people. Unfortunately there wasn't much of a choice at this point. The only way out of here was through a very locked and solid door. And were they prepared for what was waiting for them on the other side? Carlton wasn't, at least not without his gun.

"Hey, what you asked about earlier … about me shaking uncontrollably …" Shawn said. It wasn't quite a question, but at the same it wasn't just a simple statement either; there was more to it.

"What?" Carlton asked, already knowing what the answer would be just from looking at Spencer. This wasn't good at all. No, this was extremely bad … worse than bad … much worse.

"I'd like to change my answer to 'yes'," Shawn replied, tightening his arms around himself as he continued to shake.

Yes, this was about as bad as it got. They were all out of options for heat conversions save for one, and the last one really made Carlton's stomach turn. "Alright Spencer … strip."

* * *

Gus parked on Lincoln and got out of his car, silently praying that the kids playing in the park a few yards away wouldn't accidentally damage his car in any way … or purposely damage his car in anyway … which was possible … kids could be cruel.

With that departing thought he walked down the sidewalk and headed towards Billy's, getting ready to deal with the clowns. Man, he was really terrified of clowns. Ever since fifth grade when he went to the circus with Shawn and his dad. One of the clowns employed there had ended up holding the ringmaster hostage for a number of hours. Shawn's dad had sprung into action, Shawn had watched the whole thing eagerly, and Gus had tried not to curl up into the fetal position. … So basically a normal day. He hadn't gone to Billy's since, and he hadn't thought Shawn had either … at least until earlier today.

Okay, outside of Billy's now … he could do this. Gus inhaled a lungful of air and sighed before he felt that he had gathered up all the strength he could and pushed opened the door … well tried to push open the door, in reality he just ran into it … oh … oops … Gus looked around with embarrassment when he read "PULL" on the handle of the door in big letters. It didn't seem like anyone had seen him at least. Okay, one more try. He took in another lungful of air, exhaled, _pulled_ the door, and confidently took the first step he had taken into Billy's in years … well as confidently as a man that had just run into a door could step … and Gus found out that was pretty damn confident.

"Smoking or Non?" asked a clown from behind him.

"Argh!" Gus answered, leaping about a foot in the air and losing his oh-so-confident footing which landed him on his not-so-confident ass.

"I'm sorry sir, I'm not quite sure, does 'argh' mean you want the smoking section or the non-smoking section?" the clown asked, his face expressionless as he reached around him to get a menu.

"Damn snooty clown," Gus muttered to himself before getting down to business. "Uh, I'm looking for someone … two people, actually. They came in a little bit ago. Two males, adults … their names are Shawn Spencer and Carl-"

"We're not 'Missing Persons', man, either order or get the hell out," said another clown with an unlit cigarette hanging from his lips. He looked really mean. When did Gus ever think this was a good place to eat? Clowns were damn scary!

"Kay," Gus agreed, hightailing it out of the restaurant as fast as he could. He hated clowns. Luckily this time when he pushed out the door he didn't ram into it, making his getaway clean and quick.

He waited a few seconds outside before he headed to his car, trying his best to steady his breath and heart.

"Those two people you're looking for? I think I met them," a woman said. She had followed Gus out of the restaurant, albeit a bit more slowly, and she was dragging a child by the hand. "I'm not sure if they were the same people but one man called the other 'Spencer'. They helped me get my purse back."

"Did one of them have a gun?" Gus asked, knowing that Lassiter would draw his weapon at the first sign of criminal intent.

"What? No, they were very nice."

"Wait, did Spencer …" Gus paused, reaching for his wallet, "look like this?" He pointed to a picture of his best friend. He wouldn't go back into that clown-infested restaurant unless he was sure he could find Shawn in there. Plus, he was skeptical now that he knew Lassiter never pulled out a weapon.

"Yeah," the woman smiled, "He got a little beat up when he got my purse back for me so the other man he was with carried him off to the first aid station near the playground."

"Okay, thanks," Gus said, walking away from the woman and heading towards the herds of kids. Lassiter _carried_ Shawn off to first aid? How bad off was he? And if he was bad enough for Lassiter to actually carry him why didn't they just call an ambulance? Or go to the hospital? Maybe Shawn didn't have a date with Lassiter; maybe he had a date with someone else because this sure didn't sound like Detective Lassiter.

"Hi," Gus greeted as soon as he reached the first aid station and saw the attendant.

"I'm sorry sir, but I'm not treating any children at this time, so if you're looking for someone you've come to the wrong place," Maria apologized.

"No, actually you treated my friend awhile ago; an adult. His name's Shawn Spencer," Gus explained.

"Oh, yeah, I remember him. Well, who wouldn't? He's quite memorable. Plus, I don't get many adults in here."

"How badly was he hurt? Do you know where he is now?"

"He had a grade three concussion, but he was doing fine. I told them they could get away with eating if Shawn took it easy, they hurried up, and they went to the hospital as soon as they were done. They should have finished eating and be at the hospital by now," Maria answered.

"Thanks," Gus replied before taking off in his car and traveling to the closest hospital.

* * *

"If you don't leave your boxers on I swear to God I'll kill you. I'm not even kidding … I will."

"Would you make up your mind? You're the one who ordered me to strip," Shawn pointed out as he let go of the boxers he was previously thinking about taking off.

"Do you want to die or not? Because if you do you can keep right on talking," Carlton threatened, knowing he would never just leave anyone alone to die … even if that someone was Shawn. He was a cop, and protecting and maintaining lives was his number one goal above all else. … No matter how much regret he felt at that fact.

"Okay, okay," Shawn gave in, "My boxers are firmly in place. What am I supposed to be doing? Hurry up and tell me before I accidentally bite my tongue."

"Come here," Carlton commanded as he checked their wet clothes. His pants were dry, along with Spencer's shirt, but the jeans were still completely damp.

"Wait," Shawn said, stopping as he slowly reached a conclusion. He should have realized this sooner, but unfortunately both the recent concussion and hypothermia were kind of distracting. "We're going to cuddle," he pointed out with a smug expression, "You want to snuggle with me."

"I do not," Carlton denied, quickly rediscovering his anger at Shawn for taking everything as a joke. "Come here," he urged after a few moments of Shawn not moving.

"Come on, Lassi, just admit that you want to spoon with me."

"No!"

"I know you do."

"I don't."

"I'm not moving until you admit it."

"You're going to end up dead."

"You worry too much. I'm not even shaking any more."

"Spencer, you moron! That's a _bad_ thing!"

"Why don't you just admit it?"

"Fine," Carlton finally agreed, growing too tired of Shawn's childishness and knowing that the other man had reached a stage in his hypothermia in which he'd be too apathetic to care if he died. "I want to cuddle and spoon and hug and snuggle and whatever the hell else you want to call it. Now get the hell over here," he forced himself to say through clenched teeth.

"Now how hard was that?" Shawn asked before trotting towards Lassiter and leaning on his shoulder.

"Just … hold on to me," Carlton said irritably as he made a bed out of the clothes. He was never very good at words of comfort.

"Kay," Shawn mumbled, throwing an arm around Lassiter's stomach and gripping the man's waist with one hand.

Carlton knelt down as carefully as he could while he was busy making a bed out of their clothing. When he was done he was just as careful laying himself and Spencer down, making sure they were both fully covered in all the clothing that was now acting as blankets.

* * *

"Hi, I'm looking for a Shawn Spencer. Has he checked in?" Gus asked the nurse that was loudly chewing her gum and clicking her long filed nails on the countertop in front of her.

"Eh, Shawn Spenca?" she asked, reaching over and grabbing a clipboard full of signatures. "Let's see," she narrated, flipping the top page up. "Nat thata signed in tah-day, Hun."

"Oh. What about a Carlton Lassiter?" Gus asked, thinking that there might have been a chance that Lassiter had signed in instead of Shawn.

"Eh, Carltan Lassita?" she asked in much the same tone as before. "Could that be 'im?" she asked, standing up from her chair and reaching across the desk to show Gus a name that looked like _Carrie Lunnidon_ ; the 'i' in 'Carrie' had even been dotted with a heart.

"No, I don't think it is," Gus replied as politely as he could thanks to his growing irritation. "Is there another name that looks like Carlton Lassiter?"

"Nah Kid, nawt that I can see. Go check some awther place," the woman demanded, going back to her gum and the clickitty-click her nails made on the wood.

If they had enough time to eat and they never came to the hospital, then where were they? Oh God! What if clowns really were all insane and they attacked them!

"Juliet!" Gus screamed into his phone on the way out of the hospital. He was dialing and punching the number frantically; he wasn't even sure of whom he was calling at this point.

"Gus?" Juliet's voice asked (thank God he actually managed to dial the right number). "Are you okay? Did you find Shawn and Lassiter?"

"Shawn was attacked by clowns!"

"…"

"Are you still there? Hello?"

"Shawn was attacked by clowns?"

"I don't know! He got a concussion and he had enough time to eat but he never showed up at the hospital and the clowns looked scary enough to do something, and Lassiter actually carried him and the stupid first aid attendant actually let them eat before going to the hospital (do you know how dangerous that is?) and maybe they got into a car crash and with Shawn already having a concussion he could be dead and Lassiter's acting weird and it might not even be him and if it is he doesn't have a gun and-"

"Gus! Gus!" Juliet interrupted, by now completely confused as to what may have been going on. "Why don't you come back to the station, and we can talk about it here, okay?"

"Right, yeah. I'm gonna go down to the station," Gus replied, hanging up the phone and walking to the nearest bus station; he was in no state to drive.

* * *

"Spencer!" Carlton shouted in the fake psychic's ear, shaking him a little in hopes that he'd become more awake. Spencer was entering the final stage of hypothermia, and Carlton was running out of things to do.

He made sure to breathe near Spencer's mouth so the air the other man was breathing in wouldn't be so cold, but if Spencer fell asleep then it would more than likely be over. But how could Carlton wake the other man up? He wasn't even asleep exactly, just staring listlessly into space. Suddenly an idea occurred to him: pain. Pain should wake him up. "Spence," Carlton said again, trying to wake the man one last time. When Spencer didn't move the detective bit his shoulder.

"Lemme alone," Shawn mumbled, wiggling slightly before becoming listless again.

"Spence!" Carlton said, trying to get Spencer's attention. "Spence! Spencer! Shawn!"

"What?" Shawn asked, looking at Lassiter and seeming to focus on him.

Okay, 'Shawn' had gotten him but now he had to keep him awake. All he had to do was keep him talking. "Er … what's your favorite … music?" he finally managed to ask, neither used to talking about interests, nor trying to get people to talk unless it was for interrogation purposes.

"The Redwalls … I already told you," Shawn answered, burying his head into Lassiter chest.

"What's your favorite song from them?" Carlton pressed on, trying to ignore the fact that now _he_ was shaking uncontrollably.

"I dunno."

"What's your favorite … uh … food?"

Shawn didn't say anything.

This wasn't turning out very well; Spencer was practically dead and Carlton was following close behind. So he had a decision to make: he could either stay here, waiting to see who would get to them first, death or help, or he could bust through the door that separated them from the outside world and see what awaited him. It was a pretty obvious answer.

"Spence. Shawn."

"What?" Shawn asked in irritation.

"Come on, we have to go," Carlton demanded.

"Go without me."

"You're on top of me," Carlton explained, trying not to get irritated. If he stopped shaking this was going to be over. [1]

"I don't want to move."

"Spence, move," Carlton demanded, wishing he could just knock Spencer off of him but knowing he couldn't; it'd endanger the other man's chances of survival too much.

"Why?"

"So I can get up," Carlton explained with clenched teeth.

"You don't need to," Shawn argued.

"Unless you want to die here I do," Carlton pointed out. "Now get off of me."

"You're comfortable," Shawn explained.

God, even when Spencer was semi-conscious he was annoying. "You can sleep on me anytime you feel like it—just not right now," Carlton said

"Promise?"

"Yes, yes, I promise. Now get the hell off me," Carlton commanded as Spencer started to shift around a bit.

The most Shawn could do was support himself on his hands and knees, but that seemed to be enough for Lassiter because in the next moment there was no one under him.

"Your jeans are dry," Carlton said, throwing Shawn his jeans from across the room, "Try and put them on." He had already stolen his shirt and pants from the clothing heap and was starting to put them on.

"Can't," Shawn said after about his fifth or sixth try, deciding to give up in exchange for a nap.

"Spencer! Er-Shawn!" Carlton scolded when he realized Spencer was falling back asleep. He strode over to him while he buttoned up his shirt.

"Yeah?" Shawn asked sleepily, uncaringly.

"Give me the jeans," Carlton demanded, deciding that he could just clothe Spencer himself; that'd be the easiest thing to do anyway.

* * *

"Lassiter's not home; the Chief said his car's gone," Juliet said when Gus voiced the idea that maybe Shawn wasn't with Lassiter.

"Shawn should have gone right to the hospital. That was irresponsible."

"Let's not try to dwell on that," Juliet said, trying her best to guide Gus along; Shawn made it look so much easier.

"Yeah, okay. Okay, so … somewhere between the first aid station, the restaurant, and the hospital they got lost."

"We know they left the first aid station, and we know they didn't arrive at the hospital."

"Which leaves the clowns."

"Clowns …? Right," Juliet agreed so she could get to her point. "We need to go back to that restaurant, and see if they got there and if they left."

* * *

Carlton leant Spencer up against the wall, hoping he wouldn't fall asleep. He wasn't sure if he would need to jump right into action as soon as he kicked down the door or if he'd get lucky and find the way unguarded. "You awake?"

"Wake?" Shawn asked confusedly.

"Good," Carlton answered without explaining himself. He couldn't help but mentally add on _… but probably not for my sanity_ … though he was glad he wouldn't have to try to wake him again … and, overall, Spencer was being pretty quiet at this point.

Shawn was dozing off when he heard Lassiter's foot crash through the door and jerked up. "I wasn't sleeping."

"Uh-huh," Carlton agreed, too busy looking around the hallway the door led into to realize what he was agreeing to. It looked clear enough, now it just had to be kept clear. "Let's go."

"I can't move," Shawn said, partly because he was too tired to even try to move but also because he was so stiff.

"Come on, Spence," Carlton ordered, walking over towards Spencer and trying to pick him up with one hand so he could have the other hand free in case they should have uninvited guests. Needless to say, it didn't work out that well; he wasn't that strong or Spencer wasn't that light, however you wanted to look at it. Running out of choices Carlton decided to fall back on the bridal style. It definitely wasn't favored because both of his hands would be occupied, but he didn't have much choice.

"Hey, we've done this before, right?" Shawn remembered as he was swept into Lassiter's arms.

"If you're going to insist on talking I'll make you walk," Carlton threatened, not ready to start hearing Shawn commenting on every little thing again so soon.

"'Kay," Shawn agreed, lying his head against Lassiter's arm and taking another nap.

Meanwhile Carlton was trying to be as sneaky as possible with an extra one hundred and seventy pounds in his arms. It looked as if they were in some sort of office building. He stopped when he spotted a receptionist desk with a telephone; it seemed as good of a time as any to call the police.

"Hello, Santa Barbara Police Department. What is your emergency?"

"Kidnapping … possible attempt of murder … two armed criminals, possibly more," Carlton answered, trying to gather together all the information he had.

"Where is your location?"

"If I knew my location it would have been a pretty lousy kidnapping, wouldn't it?" Carlton asked. He was beginning to get irritated at this person's idiocy. "You know what's really neat? The fact that you can trace phone calls."

"Are you in any present danger?"

"Lassi?" Shawn's voice mumbled out.

"A-are you serious?" Carlton asked, wondering what type of person hired this moron. "I've been kidnapped and almost got killed … does that sound serious?"

"Lassi?" Shawn repeated, a bit clearer this time.

"Shut up Spencer," Carlton whispered, covering the bottom half of the phone and not even bothering to turn around to face Spencer. Was he really talking already? Damn.

"Have you gotten yourself out of danger?"

"If I was out of danger this wouldn't be an emergency," Carlton pointed out.

"We'll send a car as soon as possible sir."

"No, you won't. If you value your job you'll send three. Failure to do so will get you fired," Carlton threatened.

"I don't think you have the power to do that, Sir."

"Lassiter," Shawn said sternly.

"Shut the hell up, Spence," Carlton replied, still not even turning around before he went back to his phone conversation. "Last time I checked, being Head Detective did, in fact, give me the right to fire those I feel too incompetent to do their jobs. You want to mess around with me?"

"Carlton!" Shawn shouted, finally gaining the man's attention.

"What?" Carlton asked with just as much rage, finally turning around and facing Spencer.

"We have guests," Shawn replied calmly, pointing down the hall to the two gunmen that had brought them to the building in the first place. "You're being very rude to them."

"Drop the phone."

* * *

"They left the restaurant," Juliet announced as soon as she came back to her car.

"Maybe the clowns were just saying that," Gus hypothesized.

"Several witnesses saw them leaving the restaurant, and I don't see Lassiter's car anywhere around here. If you want you can go in and try your own interrogation," Juliet replied.

"I'm good," Gus answered, nervously smiling. He really didn't want to see those clowns again.

Juliet's cell phone interrupted any smug comment she was about to make to Gus. "It's the chief," she answered Gus's curious face before she picked up the call. "O'Hara."

"Lassiter just sent four squad cars to 3294 Harris Avenue," Karen said, cutting right to the chase.

"He's back at the station then?" Juliet asked, slightly confused as to why the chief would tell her Lassiter was back with that information … unless … "He's at Harris?"

"Squad cars were just sent out; get over there and see what's going on." She hung up before O'Hara could say anything else.

"Did they find them?" Gus asked, thinking it was good news.

"Yeah, but we're still not sure what type of situation they're in," Juliet answered, jamming the key into the ignition and heading over to Harris as fast as the speed limit would allow.

* * *

"Now wait a minute, you don't want to kill us," Shawn pointed out, still feeling tired and out of it. But he was aware that guns pointed at you were normally bad signs, so he took that as a plus. Unfortunately during all his thoughts about the gun pointed at him he had forgotten what he was going to say … oh well, it probably wasn't important. "Take it away, Lassi-Pants," Shawn commanded before he let himself lean on the other man's shoulder and fall into a light doze.

"Uh … well …" Carlton uttered eloquently as the gunmen both turned to look at him. Damn it! There was a reason he hadn't strived to get a job in negotiations! The way people like Spencer got everyone to listen to them was a mystery Carlton couldn't even begin to crack, and he was even farther away from the actual talent itself. "Er … I think the better question is why do you _want_ to kill us?" Carlton asked uncertainly as he tried his best to sound like Spencer and failed rather miserably.

"You don't know why we wanna kill you?" one of the gunmen asked. "I can't believe you actually have the nerve to ask me that!" he shouted, suddenly outraged and waving his gun around. "You don't know? Believe me, you'll know by the time you're lying six feet under."

"It's nice of them to give their reason right up front. To be so direct is a noble quality few people have these days," Shawn mumbled into Lassiter's shoulder semi-consciously.

"What did he say?" the other gunman asked, suspicious of an escape plan.

"He says he's sorry he comes off as so annoying sometimes," Carlton decided to lie (because he was pretty sure they wouldn't believe that one of their hostages thought they were noble), pulling a tight smile.

"He's the psychic, right?" the same gunman asked, while his partner ranted and raved. "My name's Larry by the way. That's James," he introduced, jerking his head in his partner's direction. "So can he make a prediction about me? … Like, right now?" he asked, this time jerking his head in Shawn's direction.

"Ah … Spencer," Carlton said, nudging the fake psychic, "This nice man with a gun would like you to make a prediction." God, he was already starting to think that getting shot might be better than this.

"The sky's falling," Shawn answered, reburying his head in Lassiter's shoulder and going back to sleep.

"Oh! Chicken Little! My turn!" James announced with a sarcastic happiness. "No more talking unless you want your head blown off," he said seriously before barking out some forced laughter. "Well? Come on, guess; who am I?"

"Uh, Bruce Willis?" Larry guessed with an optimistic grin.

"No! I was being me, you moron!" James shouted, waving his gun in the air and accidentally hitting the trigger.

Carlton jerked a little in surprise at both the fact that the gun had gone off (he hadn't even been aware that the safety was off) and just the noise in general. Luckily the gun was directed up at the ceiling when it went off, and no one was shot … at least for the present moment.

"Hey, Jamesy!" Larry exclaimed as soon as some plaster fell from the ceiling, "Look! The psychic was right! The sky _is_ fallin'!"

"The ceiling fell you idiot! Not the sky! And that was me! Look I can be a psychic too! The sky is falling!" he shouted before he pointed his gun at the ceiling and shot off another bullet.

"See James? Nothing happened when you did it," Larry needlessly pointed out after a few seconds of silence.

"Oh really? I didn't notice!" James replied before he fired three more shots above him. Finally some plaster fell. "Oh, there it goes; guess we just needed to be more patient."

"Aren't they going to be mad about the ceiling tomorrow morning?" Larry asked, looking up at the newly made holes.

"Stay on the subject, Larry-Boy!" James reminded his partner.

"Oh right! We were just about to tell the story about how Detective Lassiter ruined your life!" Larry replied.

"Would you let me tell it? You always tell it, and you tell it _wrong_!" James said before turning to his two captives and getting ready to tell his story.

"Yeah, you're right, you tell it better than I do," Larry admitted, interrupting the other man.

"Exactly! So let me talk!" he ordered, yet again getting ready to begin his story.

"Alright," Larry agreed, accidentally interrupting him again.

"Shut up!" Carlton demanded before James had a chance to. He was getting extremely irritated at the man's clear idiocy.

"Thank you," James said to Lassiter with complete politeness before beginning his story.

"It was when you were stationed in Texas, you see, that this whole thing started. I was driving down this back road I knew no cops watched to get to this anniversary dinner my girl set up. Except you were there and you pulled me over, claiming I was speeding (which I wasn't). Then when I was trying to calmly explain that I wasn't speeding your overeager cop ass took me in for assault. By the time my brother came to the station with my bail I was hours late for my date, and the next day my girl broke up with me. I kept trying to tell her that it was all a mistake, but there was no convincing her and she got so mad she took out a restraining order against me. She told people I was being violent, but I wasn't. I know why she really did it; that girl holds grudges like nobody else."

"I'm not the reason your girlfriend broke up with you," Carlton replied, trying hard to leave the phrase 'you gigantic moron' out of his sentence.

"Yeah, he's heard that before," Larry said, "That it was his own fault because he should have kept his cool more often, but James's a good guy; he's just misunderstood sometimes."

"Right," Carlton agreed, not wanting to go into the fact that a man pointing a gun at him and threatening to kill him was being called 'a good guy'. "But that's not what I meant. I meant I've never worked in Texas."

"Yeah, okay. Good try you brainless idiot. I've been tracking you all these years and you're telling me I've got the wrong guy? See, I've been waiting until you were transferred somewhere close to me and then -BOOM- Larry-Boy here tells me about you getting a promotion and becoming a detective in Santa Barbara. Oh, I waited quite a few years; I wanted you to feel safe, settled. I sniffed around looking for people who might be offering you a job and chased them off with a few well-thought-out rumors.

"Then a few weeks ago I realized it was my time to act. But I couldn't just kill you; I needed to make sure no one found out it was me. What I needed was practice. So I thought up an ingenious way to kill people: freeze them. There was no struggle, no evidence … it was perfect. I tested it out on a few victims …"

"Ten," Larry enlightened everyone with a smile.

"Ten victims?" Carlton asked in shock. … In only a few weeks? Why hadn't he heard about this?

"I needed to make sure everything was perfect," James explained distractedly before continuing on at the same pace. "And after all that work you make things difficult; you make me have to shoot you. And now, on top of that, you want me to believe that there's another Detective Lassiter running around out there? Na-huh, not buying it."

"There _is_ another Detective Lassiter; John Lassiter," Carlton explained, "He's my brother and he was working in Texas in the late 1980's. He's currently working in Santa _Barbour_ … New Jersey."

"Oh! Yeah, I was kind of wondering about that typo when I read it," Larry replied, looking like he had just figured out a hard math problem.

" _Typo_? It wasn't a typo you damn idiot! Santa _Barbour_ actually _is_ in New Jersey! What? You thought they got the city name and the _state_ wrong? My God, maybe it really was a typo and the real Detective Lassiter's in Tampa, Florida!" James shouted, growing red in the face.

"I don't think ' _real_ Detective Lassiter' is correct terminology," Larry argued calmly, "because _this_ Detective Lassiter is just as real as _our_ Detective Lassiter, he's just not the correct one."

"And the 'correct one' is the only one that matters!" James pointed out. "Jesus, how big of a moron are you? Well fine! You realize we're through, right? We're going to jail, Buddy, and now I'll never get to kill the _correct_ Lassiter! But if I can't kill him, his brother's the second best thing."

Carlton widened his eyes as James turned to him and pointed the gun at his chest as Shawn continued to doze unaware. He had never been in this type of situation when he was Carlton the Lunatic. Before he would have drawn his gun out long ago and he would have been away from here by now. It was the sane people in this career that got killed early; damn him for forgetting that small fact.

His life flashed before his eyes as his killer squeezed the trigger. And as Carlton prepared himself for death he was stopped when he realized it wasn't coming.

"Looks like you used up all your bullets on the ceiling, James," Larry pointed out helpfully as his friend just fumed silently.

"Give. Me. Your. Gun," James ordered with clenched teeth as he pronounced every syllable.

"You'll have to wait a few seconds; I have to go get it," Larry said, starting to walk away.

"You left your gun at the security station?" James asked for clarification as he blew steam.

"You said we had to hurry down here or they'd get away," Larry defended. "It's your fault for rushing me."

"Get the damn gun!" James ordered, having another mini explosion.

"I am!" Larry agreed, walking out of the room.

Only a few seconds passed before policemen brought Larry back in under gunpoint.

Carlton sighed as the adrenaline that was rushing through him seemed to instantly melt away. He was alive; he was okay. He was insane and he was just fine with that.

"The sky is falling," Shawn reminded everyone in the room before another chunk of plaster crumbled and fell a few feet away from a police officer, causing him to jump in surprise.

"Wow," the police officer said, his heartbeat getting back down to normal, "That is one fine psychic."

Carlton just rolled his eyes and left the room, dragging Shawn with him as he began the search for a ride to the hospital.

TBC

[1] If he stopped shaking it would mean that he had entered another stage in hypothermia and he would most likely be too apathetic to be able to think clearly.

Please review :)


	4. Carlton Gets Hospitalized

Disclaimer: Oh, I think you can guess, but just in case you can't...I do not own Psych, nor am I making any money off them (that's USA Network's department, my friend). So in case you were thinking about suing, please reconsider.

Pairing: **Shawn/Lassiter** (and I'm going to attempt to make it as canon as possible…cross your fingers for me)

Summary: Carlton Lassiter seemed much too troubled during the ending scene in the finale of season one; I couldn't just leave him like that. Carlcentric  
Notes: This is a story I started writing after the first season's finale that I never finished. Originally it was posted to my LiveJournal account. Now, it's my hope to finish it here. :)

 **Breaking Through The Ice**

 **Chapter Four: Carlton Gets Hospitalized**

"Hey Gus," Shawn greeted lazily as soon as he woke up.

The other man immediately jumped into a lecture. "Shawn! Just what were you thinking? You actually decided to go and eat when you had a concussion? That's dangerous Shawn; you could have gotten brain damage," Gus scolded.

"But I'm fine," Shawn replied as he looked around the room he was in. He was obviously in a hospital room but the shoes beside the bed next to him were Lassiter's, and the bed looked slept in. It looked as if Carly was going to be his roommate for the duration of his visit. "I _am_ fine, right?" he asked when the silence was still there and Gus had said nothing to end it.

"They still need to run some tests. They were waiting for you to wake up. I'm sure it's nothing though," Gus explained while looking too worried to actually think that everything was going to be okay.

"I'm fine," Shawn assured him again. "And it did make for a pretty exciting date. I'm impressed Lassiter managed to take me out without boring me."

"You didn't go on a date Shawn; you aren't gay," Gus argued.

"Gus, come on, you know I never like it when you get jealous."

"I'm not jealous; I'm simply stating a fact. You aren't gay, therefore you cannot go on a date with another man."

"Jealousy is an ugly thing."

"I'm not _jealous_!' Gus denied loudly.

"Dude, why do you have such a problem with this?" Shawn asked in a serious tone, a sign that he had finally gotten bored over making fun of this issue and wanted to drop the subject.

"Okay, okay. You know that kid who used to pick on me in sixth grade?"

"Sally?"

"Sally never picked on me Shawn."

"Dude, she gave you a black eye."

"No, she didn't."

"Yes she did. It was after spring break when you got back from Space Camp or something."

"I went to a comic book convention, Shawn. I went to Space Camp in the summer. How is that so hard to remember?"

"I've tried to suppress them both so I can forget about what a nerd you are."

"His name was Matt, remember?"

"The kid you went to the Star Trek Convention with?"

"Comic book convention! And no. The kid that picked on me in sixth grade; his name was Matt."

"Oh … right. The guy that got held back so long he had facial hair."

"Yeah, well, one day he suddenly stopped picking on me, and I noticed he was avoiding me a lot. So I started asking around and I found out that he … well, he had a crush on me."

"No he didn't!" Shawn grasp through the sudden laughter that was making his stomach hurt.

"Why can't you believe that? I was a very attractive looking boy, Shawn," Gus replied indignantly.

"No, Gus, you don't understand," Shawn argued while struggling to control his laughter, "I saw that he was picking on you, and I told him that _you_ had a crush on _him_ so he'd stay away from you. Then I started spreading around the rumor that _he_ liked _you_ so if he ever decided to torment you about it no one would believe him."

"Wait, so you set everything up?"

"Yeah."

"I can't believe you, Shawn! I had nightmares about that!"

"You have nightmares about everything."

"I can't believe you, Shawn."

"Lassi!" Shawn burst out as Lassiter was pushed in on a wheelchair, ending the conversation he was previously having with Gus.

"Oh God, you're awake," Carlton muttered as he climbed back into his bed.

Shawn had sometimes wondered how weird Lassiter would look if he ever decided to wear jeans, but within seconds he had realized that a hospital gown was the oddest piece of clothing Carly could and would ever wear in his entire life. "You look fine," he observed, silently asking the question of why he had been admitted.

"They want to keep him over for observations to make sure everything's fine," the nurse who wheeled him in answered when Carlton had made it clear he wasn't going to reply with anything more than a glare. "As for you …" she continued, walking over and glancing over his chart, "I'll inform the doctors that you're awake so they can begin your check up."

"Thank you," Gus replied when he was sure that Shawn intended to be just as silent as Lassiter.

"Mm-hmm," the nurse hummed before walking off, most likely in order to find some doctors that would be able to take care of Shawn.

Carlton couldn't believe that he had actually solved a case he hadn't even been given the file on yet, though it did bring about a certain new sense of pride in himself. Of course it might have been better if Spencer hadn't been there, because for some reason everyone seemed to immediately assume he was the one who solved the case even though he had been unconscious when all the help arrived.

That wasn't what he was thinking about now however; his mind was too preoccupied with the lumpy mattress he was lying on and the scratchy sheets that covered him. He didn't even know why he had to stay here overnight. He was perfectly fine; the doctors had said that themselves.

As for Spencer … well, he was talking and lapping up all the attention he was getting, so Carlton could only assume that the annoying man was just as well as he was. It grated on Carlton's nerves if he chose to be truthful about it. Spencer always took everything as a joke; it'd be a good experience for him if he were put through something that forced him to be a little serious. Of course if the threat of death wouldn't get Spencer to become serious he had little ideas of what would.

"Hey … Lassi."

"Spencer, I saved your life; would it be too much to ask for you to just _pretend_ to be asleep?"

"Come on, Carly, I thought we were friends now."

"We aren't, nor will we ever be friends," Carlton ground out before trying to get back to sleep.

"So is it true that you have a brother in Santa Barbour?" Shawn asked, seemingly unconcerned that Lassiter hated him just the same as yesterday.

"Yes."

"Wow, that's quite a coincidence," Gus spoke up, trying to include himself in the conversation.

"It's not a coincidence," Carlton corrected, "He did it on purpose; thought it'd be … _funny_."

"A Lassiter with a sense of humor: that's kind of amazing in and of itself, isn't it?" Shawn asked, tilting his head up and looking over at where Gus sat.

"Don't pretend like you know my family, Spencer," Carlton warned.

"So how old's your brother?" Gus asked, intentionally interrupting anything Shawn was about to say in an attempt to halt an argument.

"Older," Shawn answered for Lassiter. Obviously he would have to be if he was already working before he transferred to Santa Barbour at the same time as his brother. Lassiter had come to Santa Barbara as soon as he had gotten out of the police academy after all.

"I don't believe you're psychic," Carlton reminded Spencer, knowing that the other man only answered his question to try and give more evidence towards his claim. "What's his age?" he challenged.

"I don't know, Carly; what's his age?" Shawn asked in a patronizing tone.

"Damn it, Spencer. For once can you try not to be the most annoying thing in my life?" Carlton asked before rolling on his side to face the wall and debating whether or not to buzz a nurse for sleeping pills.

"Come on Lassi, lighten up," Shawn tried to persuade. He didn't receive an answer.

"Maybe he's asleep," Gus guessed after an extended silence.

"I bet you that man has never loosened his tie even once," Shawn said, knowing that Lassiter wasn't asleep yet and that he could hear him.

"Seventy-five thousand dollars?" Gus replied sarcastically.

"You're still on that? Dude, that was ages ago; get over it."

"I'm getting some coffee," Gus stated, deciding to let the subject of the money drop for now (Shawn had almost died, after all) before walking out of the room to try his luck at finding the cafeteria.

Karen had given Lassiter a few days off to recover after he got out of the hospital, but she wasn't too surprised when she spied the workaholic walking down the hall a little late in the morning. Given the time and the day Karen easily came to the realization that Lassiter must have just been released from the hospital not one hour ago. But she had already assumed that this would happen; no one could keep the head detective away from his work.

She was expecting to see Spencer sometime soon as well. Actually, if the psychic didn't come in sometime today she'd probably find herself getting worried over his welfare.

"Lassi-Face!"

And speak of the devil, there he was. Karen smiled before getting back to her own work; everything was already getting back to normal.

"What the hell do you want, Spencer?" Carlton grumbled. He hadn't even bothered to lift his head from his work when he heard the other man call out to him.

"I woke up this morning and you weren't in bed; I thought you left me," Shawn explained before he swung himself up and onto the desk so that he was sitting on the corner. "You shouldn't do that to people, Carly; I almost had a heart attack. And you didn't even give me a good bye kiss, which is just inconsiderate if you ask my opinion."

"Do you go out of your way to make sure I'm especially annoyed whenever you come within ten feet of me?" Carlton muttered, finally letting his eyes drift from his desk.

"I'm starting to think you might not like me very much," Shawn guessed, jumping off the desk and ignoring Lassiter as soon as he had noticed that Jules had arrived on the scene.

"Shawn!" Juliet greeted happily. "Is it okay for you to come back to work so soon? I would have thought they'd want to keep you in the hospital a bit longer."

"They probably got too fed up with him and threw him out. It's not a very bad idea actually," Carlton said as he got up from his desk and began to walk down the hall. The farther he could get away from Spencer the better.

"The doctors said I was fine to go home, provided I take it easy for a few days," Shawn explained, choosing to ignore Lassiter's comments.

"Which doesn't explain what you're doing here," Gus interrupted as soon as he turned down the hall and saw his best friend calmly speaking to Juliet. "I was looking all over for you, Shawn! I thought you said you were going to go home."

"I am going home. This is just a short little detour," Shawn explained before turning back to Jules. "I thought it'd be nice if I came down and said my hello's. You know, make sure no one thinks I'm dead, brag about how Lassi-Face saved my life …"

"So is it true what I heard about you two going out?" Juliet asked, her curiosity too peaked to not say anything about it.

"Who?" Shawn asked has he caught a glance at Gus out of the corner of his eye. His friend was being shifty and looked fixedly at his feet. He must have told Jules about Shawn's date with Lassiter, and by the looks of it he expected Shawn to be mad.

"About you and Lassiter," Juliet enlightened. "Is it true?"

"Jules … no … It was a joke," Shawn answered, a little amazed at why the detective found it so easy to believe that he would agree to go out with Lassiter. "You know what a joke is right? You didn't seriously believe that."

"No," Juliet lied before forcing out a laugh.

"Right," Shawn accepted sarcastically. "Jules, Come on: psychic. I know your thoughts before you do."

"Well … I didn't believe it at first but … I mean, after thinking about everything it didn't seem that outrageous," Juliet defended.

"How does that not seem outrageous? Lassiter hates me."

"He doesn't exactly … _hate_ you … you just … irritate him sometimes. Wouldn't you say, Gus?"

"Don't drag me into this," Gus replied in a surprised voice, "I don't even want to listen to this conversation, let alone be involved in it."

"He's jealous," Shawn explained for his friend.

"I am not jealous, Shawn!" Gus said immediately. "I thought we cleared this up."

"He has a crush," Shawn elaborated further, ignoring his friend's outburst.

"I do not!" Gus shouted at his friend before turning to Juliet. "I don't," he repeated in a calmer voice.

"Gus … the sooner you admit this the better," Shawn scolded.

"Shawn!"

"O'Hara," Lassiter interrupted as he walked back toward his desk and grabbed his cuffs. "We've got another case; let's go."

"Lassi! I would love to come with you," Shawn gushed at the unasked question.

"Really? Because I don't see myself enjoying it that much," Carlton returned. "You're staying here, Spencer. Get involved in my case, and I'm locking you up."

"Oh Lassi … you're so kinky," Shawn complimented before Lassiter turned away and quickly walked down the hall, dragging his partner behind him.

"Come on, Gus, let's go," the psychic urged a second later as he started to follow the two detectives.

"Shawn! What happened to 'take it easy'? What if you hit your head again? This is dangerous Shawn. I'm not going to let you do this," Gus replied with a twinge of shock to his voice.

"I'm doing this alone then? You know Gus; I think that's even more unsafe. I can't believe you would let me walk into the face of danger all by myself," Shawn said, doing his best to act appalled and doing quite well.

"No, Shawn, this is much too dangerous. I'm not going to stand by and watch you as you completely disregard everything the hospital told you," Gus answered, doing his best to stand firm on the subject.

"So then you are coming with me?" Shawn asked for clarification as he started to walk down the hall and search for where the new case Lassiter and Jules were working on was.

"Shawn!" Gus burst out after his friend had gotten quite the distance away. "Wait for me." If Shawn was going to do this anyway then Gus wanted to be on the scene if anything should happen.

"I can't believe this shit," Carlton mumbled to himself before turning onto the guy that had called them in. He'd swear on his father's grave that people were getting stupider by the day. He wasn't sure if it was the California air or if it was just the times, but he _was_ sure that it gave him the intense urge to pull out his gun and start shooting.

"Sir, I don't think we're in any position to help you," Juliet spook in an apologetic tone.

"Now wait a damn minute," the man said in an annoyed voice, "I've been robbed; you're cops; cops catch robbers … what part of that don't you understand? I've been stolen from, and I demand to get it back. Are you cops or aren't you?"

"Wel,l Sir, you see there's a problem with what was stolen …" Juliet tried to begin to explain.

"What? You don't think it was mine? What the hell's the big problem?"

"Uh … we can't look for … I mean, what was stolen from you was …" Juliet struggled, looking for the most delicate way to put the answer.

"You got your weed stolen from you," Carlton pointed out tactlessly. "Weed's illegal in case you didn't know."

"That doesn't change the fact that it was stolen!" the man complained. "Are you going to get it back for me or not?"

"Here are your two choices: either we find the weed and arrest you for possession, or we don't find the pot and we'll pretend this entire idiotic moment didn't happen," Carlton bargained.

"I want my God damned pot," the man answered, as if that was the obvious choice.

"Lassi!" Shawn interrupted as soon as he crossed the street and saw the detective. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Hello Shawn," Carlton greeted, happy enough to use the man's first name. "This is our psychic detective," he introduced.

"Is he good?" the 'victim' asked with a skeptical tone in his voice.

"He does very good work," Carlton assured. "If anyone can help you find your illegal drugs he can."

"Uh … Lassi," Shawn tried to speak up. He had wondered why Lassiter had been behaving civilly, but this was just _mean_.

"Enjoy your new case, Spence," Carlton said before he started to walk off toward his car so he could head back to the precinct.

"Shawn … I'm sorry about all of this," Juliet apologized as she kept an eye on Lassiter; she didn't want to be left behind with this case either.

"Let's go, O'Hara," Carlton commanded before getting into his car and turning it on.

"Bye Shawn," Juliet said before running towards the car as fast as she could while wearing heels. "And good luck," she called over her shoulder before getting into the passenger's seat.

"I feel a bit betrayed," Shawn spoke aloud as the car pulled away.

"Okay so … I left my weed on the front porch this morning and when I came back to smoke I couldn't find it," the man jumped in with eagerness, ignoring the psychic's previous statement.

"Do you think Lassi's cute?"

"Shawn … why are we having this conversation at two o'clock in the morning?"

"I was up and bored," Shawn explained into his phone.

"Well I was asleep … and having an excellent dream about two gymnasts and a cheerleader," Gus replied, imitating his friend's voice.

Shawn snorted. "No you weren't."

"No, I wasn't, but I was having just as good of a dream."

"Was it the one where you worked for NASA?"

"No, I won a chess tournament," Gus explained.

"Chess? Come on Dude, now you're just making fun of yourself."

"Do not mock the game of chess, Shawn. It's a game of strategy and skill and…"

"It's _chess_!" Shawn argued.

"Why are we having this conversation at two o'clock in the morning?" Gus asked again with a sigh. "And don't say it's just because you're bored because the only other time you've called me at two o'clock in the morning was because you had that weird crush on your thirty-year-old-something neighbor when you were fifteen … Oh … Oh God …"

"Gus, I'm pretty sure that was a run-on sentence. Don't those types of things bug you?"

"Oh … Oh God … Shawn … ew …"

"What? A run-on sentence isn't that big of a deal. I'm over it, Dude; no worries."

"You have a crush on Lassiter!" Gus stated.

"Ah … no I don't."

"Then why the hell did you call me so early in the morning?"

"I'd actually rather call two o'clock a.m. 'late at night' instead of 'early in the morning'," Shawn replied, getting off the point of the conversation.

"You can't have a crush on Lassiter, Shawn," Gus reminded his friend.

"I don't!"

"Then why did you call me?"

"I … I think I might be dying," Shawn lied.

"Shawn! Don't joke about things like death! Especially since we deal with homicide so much!" Gus scolded.

"Well I called you to talk about it, but if you're going to pretend it's a joke then I have no reason to talk to you," Shawn replied in a pseudo-hurt voice.

"You can't like Lassiter, Shawn," Gus restated, deciding to skip over scolding Shawn again; it wouldn't make a difference anyway.

"What's wrong with me liking Lassiter?"

"Lassiter hates you Shawn."

"I could get him to like me," Shawn insisted.

"Lassiter hates you with a passion."

"That's just because he doesn't know me."

"I think the fact that he doesn't know you keeps him from following through with killing you."

"I could date Lassiter if I wanted to," Shawn claimed.

"If Lassiter knew about your crush he wouldn't let you get within twenty feet of him."

"You willing to bet on that?"

"Seventy-five thousand dollars?"

"Fine; seventy-five thousand dollars."

"Wait … that's not how that was supposed to go," Gus faltered.

"What? Afraid I'll get Lassiter to like me back?"

"You don't have seventy-five thousand dollars, Shawn."

"I will when I win the bet."

"No Shawn, this is insane."

"I think you know you won't win. I think you're too chicken to make this bet."

"Fine Shawn, it's on," Gus agreed. "Now I'm going back to sleep."

"Night Gus," Shawn said to the dial tone.


	5. Carlton Gets Kissed

Disclaimer: Oh, I think you can guess, but just in case you can't...I do not own Psych, nor am I making any money off them (that's USA Network's department, my friend). So in case you were thinking about suing, please reconsider.

Pairing: **Shawn/Lassiter** (and I'm going to attempt to make it as canon as possible…cross your fingers for me)

Summary: Carlton Lassiter seemed much too troubled during the ending scene in the finale of season one; I couldn't just leave him like that. Carlcentric  
Notes: This is a story I started writing after the first season's finale that I never finished. Originally it was posted to my LiveJournal account. Now, it's my hope to finish it here. :)

 **Breaking Through The Ice**

 **Chapter Five: Carlton Gets Kissed**

"Lassi-Face!" Shawn greeted as soon as he had gotten to the precinct and saw the head detective.

"I'm busy Spencer. Why don't you go bug someone else?" Carlton replied evenly as he continued typing on his computer.

"Nah, that's cool; I'll just wait for you to get finished up," Shawn decided as he guided a nearby chair in front of Lassiter's desk. He slumped down on it and propped his feet on top of the detective's desk.

It took approximately six minutes of Shawn's foot tapping before Lassiter became annoyed enough to look up from his computer screen; the man was obviously getting more patient.

"What do you want, Spencer?" Carlton asked through clenched teeth.

"Are you finished then?" Shawn replied eagerly, letting his feet drop from the table and leaning in closer to Lassiter's desk.

"What do you want, Spencer?" Carlton repeated, looking like he was straining to keep himself from killing the fake psychic.

"Well see, I know I was kind of out of it during the whole 'hypothermia fiasco' but I distinctly remember that you said I could lay on you whenever I felt like it," Shawn stated with a smirk. "Is there anyway I can cash in on that promise right now?"

"You were completely crazy Spencer; I said whatever I had to say to make you remain awake, obedient, and shut up. I didn't mean what I said, and it's never going to happen," Carlton promised before leaving his desk with an armful of papers.

"Come on, Carly! Not even one time?" Shawn asked loudly, jumping from his chair and following the head detective down the hall.

"What the hell do you think you're trying to do here, Spence?" Carlton asked, whipping around on his heel and bringing his face approximately two inches from Spencer's.

"I thought that would have been obvious," Shawn said nonchalantly before pointing out, "For a detective you aren't really all that observant."

"Get to the point Spencer: what do you want?" Carlton hissed out, crumpling the paper's in his hands with barely contained annoyance.

"You," Shawn answered before he leaned over and kissed him.

"What the hell Spencer!" Carlton shouted, dropping his papers and attracting the attention of everyone in the room. He shoved the fake psychic off of him so hard the other man ended up halfway across the room. "You … you stay away from me."

"Come on, man," Shawn pleaded, still looking pretty calm about the whole thing.

"I mean it Spencer; you better stay the hell away from me," Carlton declared before walking off as fast as he could.

"It looks like I won the bet," Gus stated triumphantly after his best friend had finished telling him what had happened with Lassiter.

"First of all, what happened to the encouraging don't-give-up-I-believe-in-you speech? Second, I can try to get Lassiter to date me as much as I want; we never put a set amount of times I could try, and I haven't given up yet," Shawn defended smugly.

"I don't know what you're trying to do or what you're trying to prove, but it's not going to work, Shawn. You're straight and Lassiter's straight, and two straight men cannot be in a … a romantic relationship together," Gus pointed out.

"I'm trying to get Lassiter to date me, thus proving that I am in fact … irresistible. And come on, dude, no one's completely straight; everyone has a little homosexuality in them. It's just that some people have more attraction to the opposite sex rather than the same sex. Believe me, there is no one in the world that doesn't find some attraction in the same sex."

"I am completely straight, Shawn," Gus said, arguing with this new theory of his friend's.

"No, _you're_ completely in denial," Shawn countered.

"I am not, Shawn."

"You have to have some sort of attraction to the people you make friends with, Gus."

"So what are you saying? You want me to believe I have some sort of a man crush on you?"

"Not a crush, no. I mean, I know that you don't find me attractive in the romantic sense of the word (that would just be creepy), but you are attracted to me in terms of friendship, right?"

"… Okay," Gus agreed hesitantly.

"So all I've gotta do is convince Lassi that there's more than just a friendship form of attraction with us."

"Your plan has holes, Shawn. The biggest one being that Lassiter doesn't view you as a friend, and he doesn't seem to be attracted to you in any form of the word."

"That's two things Gus," Shawn pointed out to his friend.

"Fine Shawn, do what you want. That man will hate you forever. Plus, he's still trying to fix things with his wife, so he isn't even looking for a replacement … girlfriend … boyfriend … whatever … right now."

"Pft, get real Gus, Lassi's wife hates him with a passion. And for the record, Carly doesn't hate me, he just has issues with the world's population as a whole."

"And while that's true, you're at the top of his 'hate' list, Shawn."

"Why do I have the feeling that you don't believe in me as much as you should?"

"Because I don't," Gus pointed out nonchalantly.

"I have to confess I'm kind of offended about your amount of faith in me."

"I'm not going to pretend that this will work, Shawn; I'm trying to be realistic here. If you want a cheering section go talk to Juliet. In the meantime, I've got to get to work," Gus said before walking away from his friend with every intention of going to work.

"I thought the whole thing with you and Detective Lassiter was a joke," Juliet admitted. She was whispering quietly to Shawn while crouching behind the dumpster outside the precinct that the fake psychic had dragged her off to.

"It is … or was," Shawn answered, still sounding carefree about the whole ordeal.

"So what changed? You're suddenly taking this whole thing seriously because of what exactly?" _Realized how cute you would both look together?_ She mentally asked Shawn, half wondering if he could hear her (he was a psychic after all).

"I made a bet with Gus."

"You made a bet with your best friend that you could … what? Get Lassiter in bed with you?" Juliet asked, her face falling. "That's beyond cruel, Shawn. Lassiter's vulnerable because of his wife as it is. I'm not helping you with making the poor man doubt himself even more," she scolded, rising up from her crouching position and starting to leave.

"Wait, Jules," Shawn said with a hint of pleading in his voice as he grabbed onto her wrist and forced her back behind the dumpster. "Okay, so that's not exactly what happened."

"You want to tell me _exactly_ how you decided that you want to date Lassiter then?" Juliet asked as she crossed her arms, still skeptical of the man's intentions.

"I had this sex dream … about Lassiter last night and it was rather …" Shawn struggled to explain, waving his arms around as if to better make his point, "… pleasant, I guess."

"What happened?" Juliet said, suddenly losing all suspicion and becoming more curious. She leaned towards Shawn as her eyes got wide.

"Jules! What? Are you some kind of fan girl? Go download some porn for your little fetishes; I need help here."

"Right, fine," Juliet agreed, trying to get back on the point. "So what am I supposed to do about it?"

"Just … I don't know … try and see what you can dig up on the guy; anything to give me an … edge."

"An edge? Alright, I'll see what I can find, but if I find out this is some stupid game to mix up Lassiter even more then I'm out," Juliet vowed.

Just one sex dream and Shawn was hooked on Lassiter; Juliet still had a hard time believing it. On the other hand Shawn did have a habit of jumping up and grabbing whatever he wanted as fast as he could, so maybe it wasn't quite as unusual as it would be for any other person. Plus, the idea of Shawn and her partner going out not only made her happy because it would probably mean less fighting between the two of them, but it also turned her on a little bit … quite a bit if she was completely honest with herself.

"O'Hara! Are you planning on helping with this case or are you just going to sit there and daydream the entire time?" Carlton snapped as he realized that his partner was yet again not paying attention to anything that was going on around her.

"What do you think about Shawn?" Juliet asked, knowing that the direct approach was probably the best approach in regards to her partner (last time she had snooped around hadn't ended very well).

"Spencer has absolutely zero to do with this case (thank God); it's probably too boring for him anyway," Carlton answered, completely avoiding answering the question.

"Tell me honestly," Juliet insisted, "you don't really hate him, do you?"

"Uh … yes, I do," Carlton replied as if the answer was obvious (and really, it was). "He doesn't take anything seriously, he lies, he makes a mockery of the police, he's selfish, and my five-year-old nephew is more mature than he is."

"So we think it's the janitor stealing office supplies?" Juliet asked, getting back to the case to avoid commenting on her partner's declaration.

"Yeah, let's get him down here for investigation," Carlton said, not really picking up the hint that the subject needed to be changed and instead doing it because he was eager to finish his newest case.

"Hi ya, Lassi-Face. I heard about the janitor stealing office supplies; congratulations on catching him," Shawn complimented happily.

"I wasn't kidding when I said to stay the hell away from me Spencer," Carlton said as he brushed passed the fake psychic and made sure to take long strides in an attempt to get away from the other man more quickly.

"Come on Lassi!" Shawn tried to persuade, jogging to keep up with the detective. "Be honest with me: why don't you give this a chance? Are you a homophobe? You can't like me because I'm a dude?"

"I can't like you because you're … _you_ ," Carlton answered. "The only reason you feel any sort of attraction to me is because I'll provide a fight, which means fun and excitement for you. As soon as I cave and agree to whatever the hell you seem to think you want to do you'll get bored and move on. It's all a wasted cause."

"You've thought about this before, then?" Shawn pointed out with a smile.

"Just give it a rest, Spencer," Carlton demanded, pushing the front door of the precinct open and heading outside.

"You've got a new case already?" Shawn asked, still struggling to keep up with the other man and not run at the same time.

"I'm going home," Carlton muttered, not sure if he should have told Spencer that or not. If he hadn't the other man would have just bugged him until he turned insane, but he really didn't like the idea of Spencer knowing where he was.

"Well that's excellent! You're off, I'm not working right now … let's go grab a beer or something," Shawn suggested happily.

"No, Spencer, let's not," Carlton said with some amazement in his voice. Had Spencer completely forgotten the previous conversation?

"It won't have to be a date or anything; just a couple beers," Shawn insisted.

"I don't want anything from you Spence; beers, friendship, a relationship, nothing. Is that clear? Because if it's not I'm sure I can pound your head into the concrete until you get a better grasp on that concept," Carlton replied, jumping into his car and locking all his doors before Spencer could slip his way in.

"Carly! Come on! That's not very fair!" Shawn shouted after the quickly disappearing car.


	6. Carlton Gets Pissed

Disclaimer: Oh, I think you can guess, but just in case you can't...I do not own Psych, nor am I making any money off them (that's USA Network's department, my friend). So in case you were thinking about suing, please reconsider.

Pairing: **Shawn/Lassiter** (and I'm going to attempt to make it as canon as possible…cross your fingers for me)

Summary: Carlton Lassiter seemed much too troubled during the ending scene in the finale of season one; I couldn't just leave him like that. Carlcentric  
Notes: This is a story I started writing after the first season's finale that I never finished. Originally it was posted to my LiveJournal account. Now, it's my hope to finish it here. :)

 **Breaking Through The Ice**

 **Chapter Six: Carlton Gets Pissed**

Carlton glared down at his mail in the hopes that it would spontaneously combust. His wife wanted to get a divorce; he couldn't believe it. In her letter she said that she had met someone else and that they were planning to get married; it seemed like his world was crashing down. His marriage was over … or soon to be over.

What really upset him was that his wife … _ex-wife_ , rather … had actually dated enough that she wanted to get married again. On the reverse side of things, he hadn't even gone on one date during the separation.

Carlton groaned, feeling an intense need to go to the closest bar and get drunk off his ass. He grabbed his suit jacket, made sure he had his gun this time (he had learned his lesson well from last time), scooped up his keys, and made for the door.

Unfortunately, as soon as he opened his front door an obstacle got in his way.

"Lassi! Wow, I didn't even ring the bell yet; maybe you're psychic," Shawn joked, letting his hand drop from where it was poised near the doorbell.

Carlton just glared, quickly going over his options. Either he waited until Spencer got bored and left (which would take a long while and delay his drinking) or he could bring Spencer along (and get to drinking a lot faster). The choice was rather obvious, although he was sure he would regret it. "Are you coming or not?" Carlton snapped, shoving his way past Spencer and walking towards his car.

"A car ride; sweet ass!" Shawn yelled, doing an about-face and quickly following Lassiter to his car before he got left behind.

"So where are we headed? Or are you just going to drop me off at a corner so I can do my part-time job as a hooker?" Shawn asked as soon as he had jumped into the passenger seat and slammed the car door.

"Bar. You wanted to get a beer, right?" Carlton mumbled, deciding to just ignore the 'hooker' comment; it wasn't worth the headache.

"A second date then? I knew I'd get through to you eventually," Shawn claimed smugly.

Carlton didn't say anything in response (knowing that if he replied it would start a conversation, and he really didn't feel like talking) as he silently wondered when he had gone on his _first_ date with Spencer. Though, admittedly, it did make him strangely happy. That meant that he actually had gone out with someone during his separation. The facts that the date had been with Shawn Spencer and he couldn't remember it ever happening were things he chose to overlook.

"So what bar?" Shawn asked, wanting to start up a conversation; he hated silence.

"No talking, Spencer, or I really will drop you off at the corner. And then I'll have to arrest you for selling yourself with sex," Carlton threatened.

"Lassi, did you just make a joke?" Shawn asked, mildly impressed.

"So I take it you _do_ want to be dropped off at the corner?" Carlton replied, slowing down the car and beginning to pull up to a nearby corner.

"Okay, I get it; it was a threat, not a joke. I'll shut up," Shawn promised, holding up his hands in surrender before Lassiter pulled away from the corner and started going the normal speed limit again.

* * *

Shawn didn't speak again until they were at the bar. They had only been there for fifteen minutes or so, but Lassiter had already ordered his third shot. Shawn liked to think that he had a lot of self control and patience, but he knew he didn't, and he knew Lassiter knew he didn't, so, really, over fifteen minutes of no word from Shawn was probably more than Lassi was hoping for.

Plus, it was their second date; it would completely ruin the evening if Shawn couldn't speak.

"So, what's this all about?"

"Nothing," Carlton mumbled before slamming back his shot and calling out, "'Nother one over here," to the bartender.

"Carlton, you keep forgetting I'm psychic; I know something's wrong. Plus, I think your attempt to drink your weight in shots normally doesn't point to a happy life," Shawn replied as the bartender laid down another shot in front of Lassiter.

"… Aren't a psychic," Carlton muttered before gulping down his fourth shot.

Shawn turned in his seat so he was facing the detective. "It doesn't take a psychic to know that if you keep going at the rate you are you're going to be crawling out of here. And, while I admire that you can hold to your beliefs even when you're drunk, me being psychic's not the point," Shawn pointed out, taking another swig of his beer. "So, what's up?"

"My wife wants a divorce; she's getting remarried," Carlton explained before waving towards the bartender and pointing to his empty glass.

"Well … that eliminates about all of my competition at least, right?" Shawn joked before he took a sip of his beed. Wow … Lassiter could do a pretty mean glare even when he was drunk.

Carlton remained silent, only turning his glare away from Spencer when he received another shot. He quickly gulped it down, quietly wondering how many he had ordered before realizing two seconds later that he didn't really care.

"Come on Lassi, do I have to run through the whole she-wasn't-good-enough-for-you speech? Because I'm trying to get a buzz going on over here, and I'm pretty sure that'll put a bit of a damper on it," Shawn replied, still trying to get the man to open up to him.

"If you want to get buzzed you sure as hell aren't trying very hard. You haven't even finished your first beer yet," Carlton pointed out, wondering why he had noticed the number of beers Spencer drank and not remembered how many shots he had drank. Fortunately he was really too drunk to think or care about it.

"Yeah, well … one of us had to be in a condition to drive," Shawn pointed out, finally finishing his beer as Carlton knocked back the sixth shot that he had in front of him, this one having been put there by the bartender with no prompting on his part.

"You aren't driving my car, Spencer," Carlton replied, still sober enough to know that he didn't want Spencer anywhere near the gas pedal of his car (the passenger seat was close enough as it was).

"What makes you think I'm going to let you drive?" Shawn asked with some amazement; a police officer thinking it'd be a good thing to drive home drunk … that was slightly funny, but what made it funnier was the fact that it was Carlton Lassiter.

"We're walking. I'll leave my car here for the night."

"That's safe?"

"Safer than you driving it."

"Are you sure you're drunk? Because you sound pretty sober," Shawn pointed out.

"Apparently I can just handle more alcohol than you. I don't get buzzed on less than one beer," Carlton replied before noticing he had another full shot glass.

"Okay! Time to go!" Shawn announced, jumping from his seat and grabbing Lassiter by the wrists before the detective could get his hands on his seventh shot in well under an hour. "Your place is closer; let's just walk over there."

"Uh-huh," Carlton agreed without knowing what it was he agreed to and not really caring either way.

* * *

"Coffee … coffee," Shawn mumbled as he went through all of Lassiter's cabinets. "Do you always drink like that, Lassi? You're going to get alcohol poisoning if you keep it up," he warned loud enough that the detective could hear him from where he sat on the living room couch.

"Please, I didn't even take ten shots," Carlton grumbled, hoping he was telling the truth. He had paying much attention after the first few.

"On our first date I almost get killed and on our second you get drunk … at least you know how to keep me entertained," Shawn said, mostly to himself, as he started making the coffee. "Of course, I do feel obligated to tell you that if it keeps going like this one of us is probably going to die before we get to the sex. "

Shawn walked back into the living room, slightly surprised that his latest comment didn't get any sort of response from Lassiter. "Oh, that explains it," he mumbled to himself as soon as he saw the detective. "So nix on the coffee, then?" he asked the sleeping man on the couch.

Carlton woke up and quickly looked at his clock: 8:16; it was already past the time he was supposed to get to work. Cursing under his breath he threw off the blankets previously covering him and sat up. That's when he noticed another presence in the normally unoccupied space on the bed.

"Spencer! What the hell do you think you're doing?" Carlton shouted with shock in his voice.

"Hey Carly," Shawn mumbled sleepily. "It's still early; let me go back to sleep."

"Spencer! Get the hell out of my bed!"

"I can't believe you're treating me like this after our awesome night together," Shawn complained, sitting up in the bed and rubbing his eyes in an attempt to become more awake.

" _What_?" Carlton snapped, quickly going through everything he could remember from the previous night. It was a bit fuzzy, but he was certain that nothing he did had caused Spencer to get in his bed and that nothing that happened the night before would be considered 'awesome'. "Nothing happened last night, Spencer."

"Is your face red because you're mad or are you embarrassed to be sharing a bed with another dude?" Shawn asked calmly.

"We've gone over this before," Carlton said with clenched teeth, trying to appear calm and failing miserably. "I'm embarrassed to be sharing a bed with _you_ ; your gender has nothing to do with anything."

"Come on Lassi, you can't hate me that much," Shawn tried to persuade.

"I can and I do, Spencer," Carlton insisted, jumping out of bed to discover that he was dressed (thank God). "Didn't I already make it clear that I didn't want you to speak to me?" he asked, going to his closet and pulling out some clothes.

"I knew you were just kidding," Shawn replied with a smile and a flick of his wrist.

"I wasn't Spencer, I meant it and still mean it. Why the hell will you not leave me alone?" Carlton asked, retreating into his bathroom to change.

"We've gone other this before too, Lassi-Face. You know, the whole 'I want you' that you set up for me so perfectly," Shawn started to ramble.

"And I also told you that I didn't care," Carlton said loud enough to be heard through the bathroom door.

"What's the worst that can happen if you just give me a chance?" Shawn asked. "That's normally the next step in all of this."

"I think you're missing a step Spence; _I_ have to feel attracted to _you_ as well … and I don't … _at all_ ," Carlton replied.

"But I think you need me, Lassi. You're going through a divorce, your wife's getting married; you need someone to lean on," Shawn lectured.

"And while that may be true, you aren't that person, Spencer," Carlton said as he threw open the bathroom door and stepped out fixing his tie. "You constantly belittle me, you don't respect what I say, you so obviously don't care about me; you are exactly what I _don't_ need right now."

"Lassi," Shawn pestered in a joking tone.

"Look Spencer, this whole … _attraction_ thing, it's just because you think the chase will be exciting. It's nothing but an animalistic desire on your part. You don't want _me_ ; you don't even know me. You just want to _have_ me … for nothing more than to say you do," Carlton pointed out angrily before heading towards the front door to begin his journey into work.

Carlton cursed as he remembered that he left his car back at the bar. He would have to walk there before he could drive to work, and that would make him even later.

* * *

"I told you Lassiter hated you," Gus reminded his friend after he had heard the story about why Shawn was still wearing the same clothes as yesterday.

"Again, there's no you-can-do-it speech? I'm starting to think that you aren't a very good friend, Gus," Shawn pointed out.

"Don't act like you're the epitome of best-friend-material Shawn, because let me tell you, you aren't."

"Dude, I totally am," Shawn said in a know-it-all voice.

"You don't even know what 'epitome' _means_ Shawn; don't act like you do."

"Aren't we getting off topic here? What am I supposed to do about Lassi?"

"Just give up. I'm telling you, you're never going to get Lassiter to like you. I'm pretty sure he's doing all he can to not shoot you."

"See! Proof! You are just the worst friend ever!" Shawn declared, jumping subjects again.

"I'm telling the truth Shawn; that's what a good friend does. If you want rainbows and puppies you can go and talk to Juliet again."

"I'm starting to think Jules has a few fetishes we don't know about," Shawn admitted with a frown. "I'm afraid that if she helps too much she'll demand a homemade porn of me and Lassi. And of course if Jules asks with that adorable pleading look on her face she always wears how could I say no? But then of course Lassi'll hate that idea, so I'll have to do it behind his back. Then he'll find out and end everything I'm working so hard to achieve." He turned towards his friend. "You _have_ to help me Gus, if you don't my future relationship will be over before it even starts."

"Shawn! There is no relationship; there will never be any relationship. It doesn't matter who you go to for help because Lassiter _hates_ you! He worse than hates you; he _despises_ you," Gus pointed out.

"He has never said he despises me."

"I know. I can just tell these things sometimes."

* * *

"Detective Lassiter, is everything okay? I've never seen you late to work before," Juliet said as soon as she saw her partner coming in more than an hour after he normally showed up. While she was trying to be nice and show concern she was only met with a glare.

"Oh, and there are some flowers on your desk," Juliet plowed on. "I didn't know what to do with them so I-"

Carlton's brain cut off O'Hara's rambling as soon as he saw the two-dozen red roses on his desk. Normally he'd be ecstatic because they might have been from his wife (ex-wife … he was going to have to get used to that), but she was getting married so they couldn't have been from her (plus, she had never been the romantic sort). Since he didn't have anyone to send him roses any more he was immediately suspicious.

When he read the card he was both shocked and disgusted (but more disgusted than shocked) to find out they were from Spencer. Suddenly a great idea hit him and he grabbed up the flowers and marched away.

"Detective Lassiter? What's wrong?" Juliet asked, jogging to keep up with her partner and curiosity written all over her face.

"Do we have a case?" Carlton asked.

"No," Juliet answered uncertainly.

"Then leave me alone," Carlton demanded. "Call my cell phone if Vick gives us something." Then he sped off, leaving Juliet behind with her theories.

* * *

"Hey Jules," Shawn greeted as soon as he came into the police station. "Where's Lassi?"

"He got some roses this morning and just took off," Juliet explained. "Are you the one that sent them?"

"So you don't know where he went?" Shawn asked, completely ignoring Juliet's question.

"Not really, although I do have some ideas," Juliet admitted.

"And they would be?"

"Are you the one that sent Lassiter the flowers?" Juliet shot back.

"Yeah. And those ideas would be …"

"Wait-why are you in the same clothes as yesterday? Shawn! What happened?" Juliet asked with a fair amount of anger in her voice.

"Nothing happened Jules, I promise … though I would have thought given your newly discovered fetishes you would have wanted something to happen," Shawn admitted.

"I don't want anything happening that Lassiter isn't ready for! You could easily take advantage of him and if that ever happens-"

"Lassiter isn't as vulnerable as you think he is, Jules. I'm doing everything I can to even talk to him, okay? Nothing's going to happen and Lassi's going to come out intact, I promise."

"He's probably at the shooting range; he goes there when he's upset," Juliet admitted with a sigh.

"He looked upset?"

"He looked more than upset, Shawn; he looked furious … but then glad at the same time," Juliet enlightened with a frown on her face. "Be careful, okay?"

 _So he was glad for the flowers but furious because I sent them_ he thought to himself before declaring rather loudly, "Ha! I knew he was a sucker for romance!" and taking off towards the shooting range.

"Hey Lassi!" Shawn greeted over the gunshot.

"Spencer," Carlton greeted back nonchalantly.

"What are you shooting at?" Shawn asked as soon as he saw the two-dozen roses messily tacked onto the bull's-eye board.

"Flowers," Carlton answered with a certain amount of smugness in his voice.

"Oh," Shawn answered, for once in his life at a loss for words. Luckily, he bounced back rather quickly. "You know, most people would normally just put them in some water."


	7. Carlton Gets Divorced

Disclaimer: Oh, I think you can guess, but just in case you can't...I do not own Psych, nor am I making any money off them (that's USA Network's department, my friend). So in case you were thinking about suing, please reconsider.

Pairing: **Shawn/Lassiter** (and I'm going to attempt to make it as canon as possible…cross your fingers for me)

Summary: Carlton Lassiter seemed much too troubled during the ending scene in the finale of season one; I couldn't just leave him like that. Carlcentric  
Notes: This is a story I started writing after the first season's finale that I never finished. Originally it was posted to my LiveJournal account. Now, it's my hope to finish it here. :)

 **Breaking Through The Ice**

 **Chapter Seven: Carlton Gets Divorced**

"Hey Gus," Shawn greeted without the same amount of perkiness as usually.

"What's up, Shawn?" Gus asked, questioning instead of greeting.

"Lassi shot at the flowers I gave him," Shawn explained in a monotone, slumping down on the couch inside the Psych building.

"So you've given up?" Gus asked, perking up slightly. Happy that this ridiculousness could finally be over.

"Gus! How could you say that?" Shawn replied, sounding stricken.

"You really actually like Lassiter, don't you? You're not doing this for the bet," Gus asked, his heart sinking at the realization.

"Of course I haven't given up yet!" Shawn exclaimed, completely ignoring his best friend's statement. "He didn't even shout at me to get away from him while he was shooting my flowers."

"Juliet's going to kill you if she finds out you aren't serious about liking Lassiter, Shawn. You know how police partners are; they're protective of each other," Gus warned with a frown.

"I _am_ serious! Why does nobody think I'm serious?" Shawn asked with some frustration.

"Look Shawn, your actions haven't exactly screamed 'I love Lassiter'. You're always trying your hardest to annoy the crap out of him," Gus pointed out.

"No, I'm not! That's just some friendly teasing!"

"Well Lassiter doesn't seem to think of it like that."

"Well … _it is_!" Shawn defended, his voice turning sharper as his frustration showed.

"Hey, Shawn … I'm just sayin' …"

"Right," Shawn sighed, dropping his head onto his hands. "I know."

* * *

"Where's Lassi?" Shawn asked Juliet as soon as he noticed the detective wasn't around.

"He took the day off," Juliet explained, not stopping to look up from the report she was reading at her desk.

"That's peculiar," Shawn pointed out, stooping down to try to catch her eye. "Any idea why?"

"No, and I have no desire to find out; Lassiter got really mad when I asked him and made it perfectly clear it was none of my business," Juliet replied, still looking down at the paper work.

"And that normally stops you?" Shawn asked with curiosity lacing his words as he took a seat next to the desk.

"If you want to find this one out you're going to have to be on your own, Shawn. I have work I have to do. Sorry," Juliet replied, her voice monotonous as she continued to read through her paperwork.

"No idea where he is?"

"Not a clue," Juliet said in a dismissive tone.

"Alright, come on Gus," Shawn demanded of his friend who had been silent throughout the conversation.

"Shawn, I am not going to help you spy on Lassiter," Gus declared. "You've already invaded the guy's personal space as it is. You can't give it a break just for today?"

Ignoring his friend's protests, Shawn turned to Juliet. "Sure you don't want to help, Jules? I'll fill you in on that sex dream if you do," he tried to bargain.

Juliet sighed as she finally looked up from her paperwork. "… Fine, but no one can find out I helped you," she finally agreed after several seconds, dropping her paperwork onto the desk and getting up.

"Sweet!" Shawn replied excitedly, leaping up from his seat "We can be like the three musketeers now!" he said, his attention flipping from Juliet to Gus and back again.

"I'm not going Shawn," Gus told his friend. "Therefore there are only two musketeers."

"Fine then, you traitor," Shaw replied, tilting his chin up. "Lassi'll just have to take your place."

"Lassiter can't be the third musketeer, Shawn. He's not going to agree to spy on himself," Gus informed him.

"Stop being such a downer Gus," Shawn chided, frowning at his friend. "If you're jealous just say so. Do you want to be the third musketeer or not?"

Gus frowned at his best friend for several seconds before answering. "Can I be Athos?"

"Only if I can be Porthos," Shawn negotiated. "Which leaves Aramis for Jules."

Juliet rolled her eyes. "Let's just go," she told them before heading out of the station.

"Eager to finish so you can listen to my sex dream?" Shawn replied, following after her with a bounce in his step.

"Let's just go, Shawn," Juliet said, not slowing her pace as she walked towards the doors.

"It's Porthos! If you aren't going to play this game right you can't come!" Shawn threatened. "We could just as easily give Aramis to Lassiter, you know."

"No, Shawn, I already told you we can't do that because Lassiter isn't going to help spy on himself," Gus pointed out, but Shawn was too far away in his goal to catch up with Juliet to hear.

* * *

"Okay … who's that?" Shawn asked with enthusiasm as he saw Lassiter through a window with a woman and another dude.

"Are you asking me? How would I know?" Juliet asked quietly, despite the fact that they were outside hiding behind a dumpster.

"What building is this? Do we even know?" Gus replied, turning to Shawn and voicing his own questions.

They were crouching rather uncomfortably behind a dumpster surrounded by some bushes in the hope that they wouldn't be found. Unfortunately, the stiffening of everyone's muscles did little to make them want to keep on spying.

"It's a lawyer's office," Shawn answered distractedly.

"You mean a law firm?" Gus asked in a smug voice, happy to show that sometimes Shawn wasn't as smart as he wanted everyone to think he was.

"Right, yeah … one of those," Shawn brushed off with a wave of his hand. "Okay, so that's obviously his wife," he narrated, pointing to the woman. "And that's the lawyer," he continued, moving his hand so he was pointing to the other man.

"So Lassiter's getting a divorce?" Juliet guessed, her eyes widening slightly in shock.

"Yeah Jules, keep up; we already knew that part," Shawn replied hurriedly.

"So why are we still here?" Gus asked with quite a bit of annoyance. "Lassiter took the day off to go to a law firm to sort out his divorce. What's the big mystery in that?"

"Something else is going on," Shawn explained, "Lassiter looks way too uncomfortable."

"He's getting a divorce, Shawn. Of course he's going to be uncomfortable," Gus justified.

"There's divorce-uncomfortable-ness and then there's a whole different case of I-wish-I could-kill-myself-so-I-wouldn't-have-to-be-here-uncomfortable-ness," Shawn enlightened. "Lassi's definitely the latter." He frowned to himself. "Or is it the former. Which is which?"

" _You_ obviously think it's the former," Gus answered his friend. "But we don't know anything for sure. He might just uncomfortable because of the divorce; it's a perfectly logical excuse."

"… I'm gonna to go check it out," Shawn decided, rising up from the bushes and striding toward the building.

"Shawn!" Juliet whispered loudly at Shawn's back before turning to Gus. "Do we go after him?"

Gus just sighed. "Normally something bad happens if I don't," he explained before following Shawn.

* * *

"This is supposed to be a private meeting!" the lawyer burst out angrily as soon as Gus and Juliet flung open the door.

Shawn was already in the room, sitting smugly on the side of Lassiter's chair and leaning into him. Both Lassiter and his ex-wife didn't look too happy with him being there.

"Do you have any reason to be here?" the lawyer asked with a frown when no one had said anything.

"I'm Lassiter's ..." Juliet stumbled before her eyes lit up, "girlfriend."

Lassiter's wife raised an eyebrow at him. "Well … a girlfriend _and_ a boyfriend … you're getting quite popular," she commented sarcastically.

"Carly's quite the fan of threesomes," Shawn explained happily, putting his arm over the detective's shoulder.

"Spencer! I am not!" Carlton shouted, jumping from his chair and turning to confront Spencer head on with a red face (either from anger or embarrassment; the fake psychic couldn't tell).

"C'mon now, Lassi, she is your wife … " Shawn frowned before correcting himself. "Ex-wife. You shouldn't feel uncomfortable sharing your personal life with her," he said before turning to the woman. "Well, that certainly speaks wonders about you, doesn't it?"

"Do they have a legitimate reason to be here?" the woman snapped, clearly pleading with the lawyer to force all the unwelcome visitors out.

"Hey! We all live with Carly, and we'd like to know what our financial situation is going to be like," Shawn defended before sliding into the chair that Lassiter had previously unoccupied.

"Oh! I see," Lassiter's ex-wife said, making sure to hold her hand up to her chest to show off her engagement ring. She turned to her soon to be ex husband. "So really they're more like whores you picked off the street than actual relationships … with you housing them and all. You agree to pay their way through life in exchange for them being with you. It makes a lot more sense now, though I am a bit ashamed; you are a cop after all."

"They're not …!" Carlton started to say before halting. They weren't whores _or_ relationships, but his brain was mixed up about what to say first. Settling on a growl he grabbed his coat from the back of the chair Shawn was now occupying. "Just send any paper work through the mail; I'll sign whatever I need to," he forced out before bolting out the door.

"So how much money can I get out of him?" Lassiter's ex-wife asked, promptly forgetting the other three people in the room in favor of the lawyer.

* * *

"Do you still think he's around?" Gus asked, looking around the parking lot of the law firm for Lassiter's car.

"He probably went right home as fast as he could," Juliet guessed even though she was looking around as well.

"He probably went right to a bar as fast as he could," Shawn amended, walking towards the car that brought them all there in the first place.

"Are you finally giving up?" Gus asked as he followed his best friend. "If by some miracle he didn't hate you before he's certainly going to hate you now."

Shawn swung around quickly to face Gus. "I didn't do anything," he protested.

"You made a fool of him in front of his ex-wife, Shawn," Gus explained.

"So did you two!"

"I didn't say anything!" Gus corrected. "Therefore, none of this was my fault."

"You could have stopped me and Jules," Shawn pointed out.

"It's 'Jules and me', Shawn," Gus answered.

"It's nice to know you aren't worried enough to not correct my grammar Gus," Shawn replied back with sarcasm.

"You're the obvious scapegoat, Shawn," Juliet said in a voice that made it known she was sorry about it.

"Thanks for the pep talk guys … really, it was awesome," Shawn answered in complete sarcasm before turning back around and heading for the car.

"Come on Shawn, you said you were Lassiter's _boyfriend_ ; how would that have helped matters at all?" Gus asked.

"Are you just going to drop me off at the station?" Juliet interrupted, following Shawn to the car.

"Pft … no! We're going to go and track Lassi down," Shawn enlightened happily.

"Shawn … you're … you're going to get punched pretty soon," Gus warned as he followed Shawn to the car as well.

"Do you really think this is the best time to be bothering Lassiter?" Juliet asked as she climbed into the car Shawn was already secured in.

"Now's the perfect time to bother Lassiter!" Shawn replied as he fit the key into the ignition. "He needs a friend right now … and suddenly I'm right there, sitting next to him on a barstool … then he'll begin to open up to me … It's just pure awesomeness all around!"

"No, Shawn, it's not," Gus argued, climbing into the car last and getting the back seat by process of elimination.

"That's okay if you don't believe me," Shawn comforted, "because I'll be proving my theory in about point two seconds."

"It's going to take us a lot longer than a second to find him, Shawn," his best friend pointed out.

* * *

Carlton sat alone in some dingy bar sipping on whiskey. If he looked around he was sure he could find at least ten different reasons to close the establishment down, but he wasn't thinking about police work. He was busy debating whether the meeting with his wife … ex-wife … could have gone any better even if Shawn hadn't shown up and acted stupid.

It was times like these that he wished John Fenich was still the chief of the Santa Barbara Police Department. This was just the sort of thing that he could talk to him about.

Unfortunately John was in Scotland and long distance calling was getting absurdly expensive these days.

And he didn't have anyone else to talk to: Vick was incompetent, Spencer was a nutcase, Guster seemed to not be able to think for himself, and O'Hara would become too nosy and too excited as soon as he let her into any aspect of his personal life, no matter how microscopic it was. Thanks to his work those were the only people he was even relatively close to, and there was no way he was talking to any of them.

His family was a definite no; most of them didn't even know he had been separated and some of them didn't even know which state he was in.

Carlton sighed deeply as he took another drink from his whiskey before hearing something that made him wish he'd downed all of it with one gulp.

"Lassi-Face!"

"Spencer," Carlton mumbled into his drink.

"Don't forget Jules and Gus; they're here too," Shawn said, pointing towards the two people that had reluctantly followed him into the bar.

"Well good for you Spencer," Carlton mock congratulated. "You all have a wonderful time; I was just leaving," he excused himself, rising from his barstool and walking towards the door (he had already paid; apparently the bartender didn't trust his customers to not dine and dash and made them all pay beforehand).

"Carly! Don't be a party-pooper!" Shawn scolded after the retreating detective.

He went on to say more but Carlton was already out the door and too far away to hear him.

"That certainly worked," Gus broke the silence smugly.

"Can I be dropped off at work? Chief Vick is going to kill me if she notices I'm gone," Juliet said, interrupting the argument that was sure to come.

"Come on Jules, live a little," Shawn tried to persuade, "Just say you were out working on a case, or that you were taking a long lunch."

"Shawn, come on, this is my job we're talking about. I can't afford to do anything half assed; I'm still new," Juliet explained.

"Alright fine," Shawn agreed, fishing the car keys out of his pocket and heading back out to the car. "I just hope you realize this means we're short one musketeer."

"Just pick me up after my shift's over, okay?" Juliet bargained. "I can go back to helping then."

* * *

Carlton drove around in his car thinking of where he could escape Spencer. He had already found him at two different bars and at home, and the police station was definitely a place the psychic would look. Unfortunately those were pretty much the only places he went.

Obviously Spencer would start looking at any establishment that sold beer after he wasn't at home, which meant pool halls were out as well.

Restaurants were next on the list, but there were only a couple he liked and Shawn could easily figure out which ones.

In other words he'd have to go somewhere that he didn't like … somewhere that no one would think that he would be seen at.

Taking a sharp turn to his right he headed to a dance club. The only reason he even knew it existed was thanks to a case a few years back. It was a complete dump then, but he had the odd hope that they hadn't bulldozed it down yet.

"Shawn, we've checked his house, all the bars in town, the shooting rage, the movies, and all the restaurants Lassiter would even consider going to; let's face it, he went to Pluto to try and avoid you," Gus said, much too weary of the hide-and-seek game they were playing with the detective.

"Don't be such a downer Gus; he's gotta be around here somewhere. Let's just stop and think for a minute," Shawn persuaded.

"He knows we're looking for him, therefore he's not going to go to a place that we would normally look for him at," Gus started in obedience.

"So bars, his house, restaurants; those were already out before we even searched them," Shawn realized.

"So we did all that for nothing!" Gus exclaimed in an outrage.

"Gus! Now's not the time to be a whiner," Shawn scolded.

With a roll of his eyes Gus continued on with their deduction, "In other words, we should be looking for him in places he wouldn't be at."

"Wrong!" Shawn shouted, throwing a fist in the air before pointing a finger at Gus. "We should be looking for him in places that he thinks we wouldn't be looking for him," he corrected.

Gus frowned at his friend. "There's a difference between the two?"

"Of course! For example: Lassiter wouldn't be at a biker's bar …" Shawn started to explain.

"If you remember correctly we searched _two_ biker's bars," Gus pointed out, clearly ready to cancel the search.

"Shush Gus, I'm on to something," Shawn scolded before continuing. "… but he thinks that we won't ever look for him iiinn … a dance club!" he explained excitedly.

"You think that Lassiter's at a dance club? Shawn, that's preposterous; he doesn't even know where any dance clubs _are_ ," Gus explained.

"Exactly! So obviously we would never look for him there!" Shawn enlightened, already pumped up about the idea and racing to the car.

"Shawn! Wait for me!" Gus called after him before sprinting to the car along with his friend in order to not be left behind (it had happened before, and the cab ride back to Psych was less than pleasant).

* * *

Carlton looked around disgustedly from the barstool he was sitting on. It wasn't even five o'clock yet and the club was already way too crowded for his liking. They had alcohol, sure, but between people coming up to him and asking him to dance (who the hell would want to dance with a complete stranger anyway? That was just asking for trouble), the crowds, and the shitty condition of the club itself, the detective was debating whether letting Spencer find him would actually be better.

Luckily he found his sanity before he decided to leave and realized that even living in Antarctica would be better than letting whatever Spencer intended to do with him happen.

"Hello," a woman greeted, interrupting Carlton's inner rambling. She had overdone it on the make-up and had almost no clothing covering her. "Care to dance, Handsome?"

Carlton looked towards the dance floor where it looked as if an orgy was taking place. He didn't hide the disgust on his face or in his voice as he turned back toward the woman and making his "Hell no," quite firm.

"Come on," the woman tried to coax, grabbing his arm and winking at him. "You don't have to be shy."

Carlton didn't reply with anything more than to take another drink of his … whatever the hell it was that he was drinking. He thought it would be enough of a dismissal, but when the woman decided to occupy the stool next to him he realized that wasn't the case.

"You're much too done up, you know," the woman pointed out, reaching over and trying to loosen his tie.

Carlton moved away from her hand, looking down at his suit and then looking at the other people in the club (they were all less than half dressed). He frowned; no one would be able to pay him enough to dress even _remotely_ like those degenerates.

"Do you want something?" Carlton snapped when he noticed that the woman had decided it would be a good idea to play with his tie.

"You don't want to dance with me?" the woman asked, pouting flirtatiously.

Carlton narrowed his eyes, mentally wondering what was wrong with the woman in front of him. He had already said no, how would rewording the question make him change his mind?

"Sorry," Shawn burst in, acting apologetic toward the woman while throwing his arm around Lassiter. "This one's mine," he explained with a smile.

"Spencer," Carlton seethed, pushing the man away from him and making his way towards the door as fast as he could. Unfortunately that meant he had to go through the orgy that people called dancing. It was easier than he thought it was going to be to join in, but quite a bit harder to move towards the door. By the time he got two steps Spencer was right beside him.

"You're doing it all wrong, Lassi-Face," Shawn corrected. "You've gotta move _with_ the crowd, not _through_ them."

"I didn't ask you for a dance lesson, Spencer," Carlton replied, making sure he was loud enough so that the fake psychic heard him. "In fact I don't remember asking you for anything, so why are you here?"

"No, you've got it wrong," Shawn corrected again, happily dancing among the other bodies, " _I'm_ the one who wants to ask _you_ something."

"What?" Carlton snapped, still trying without success to push his way through the crowd.

"A date," Shawn answered, continuing to dance.

Carlton just rolled his eyes and forced his way out even harder than before.

When he made it to the door he turned around to still see Spencer dancing with the crowd.

TBC

Please review! :)


	8. Carlton Gets Sleepy

Disclaimer: Oh, I think you can guess, but just in case you can't...I do not own Psych, nor am I making any money off them (that's USA Network's department, my friend). So in case you were thinking about suing, please reconsider.

Pairing: **Shawn/Lassiter** (and I'm going to attempt to make it as canon as possible…cross your fingers for me)

Summary: Carlton Lassiter seemed much too troubled during the ending scene in the finale of season one; I couldn't just leave him like that. Carlcentric  
Notes: This is a story I started writing after the first season's finale that I never finished. Originally it was posted to my LiveJournal account. Now, it's my hope to finish it here. :)

 **Breaking Through The Ice**

 **Chapter Eight: Carlton Gets Sleepy**

As soon as Carlton pulled his car into the parking lot at work he saw Shawn … standing right in the middle of his designated parking space. He wasted no time revving up the engine and stomping on the gas, ignoring any concerns over whether Shawn would have enough time to jump out of the way or not as he raced into his parking space at top speed.

Luckily, Shawn did manage to leap out of the way, doing so as soon as he realized that Lassiter actually intended to run him over, and barely making it out of the way before his foot was driven over.

"Lassi!" Shawn shouted after the detective got out of the car with a discontented look on his face. "You actually tried to run me over! I'm reporting you to the police! Crazy people should not be allowed in the streets!"

Carlton just walked past him, not sparing Spencer a glance; he was way too tired for this type of shit. His neighbor's kid and his friends had apparently decided that forming a band would be a brilliant idea and had spent the whole night practicing in their garage … and they weren't very good. The noise was so loud it shook his house and, needless to say, Carlton had a hell of a time trying to sleep. He kept waking up from a doze thinking he was going through an earthquake.

* * *

"O'Hara," Carlton called out as soon as he plopped down in his desk chair (he was never getting up again).

"Hey Carlton," Juliet greeted, using her partner's first name in the hopes that it would help him recognize their friendship and therefore not kill her for snooping in his life yet again.

"Do we have a new case today?" Carlton asked, bristling at the informal use of his name. What the hell were they? Friends? She thought just because she knew he was getting a divorce that deepened their relationship? What the hell was with that? It made him want to yell at her even more; unfortunately he was way too tired to even manage a glare today. Plus, he had to save his energy for whatever Shawn was planning next.

"No," Juliet answered disappointedly, knowing that a case would distract Lassiter from what happened yesterday. "I can go ask Chief Vick though," she continued, picking back up her perkiness.

"Don't you dare," Carlton replied in a growl as he reluctantly lifted himself out of his chair. "Tell anyone who asks that I'm busy. You are to take care of anything that comes up yourself, got it?"

"Yeah," Juliet accepted without a fight, curious as to where her partner was going but not having enough courage to ask.

Carlton nodded his head and headed toward the interrogation rooms, hoping one would be empty so he could take a nap.

Juliet watched her partner go before sitting at her own desk and starting in on some reports she had been putting off. It was only minutes before she was interrupted.

"Jules!" Shawn greeted as soon as he headed towards Lassiter's desk. The attempt on his life was a little startling, but after a few minutes he was up and ready for round three hundred and six.

"Shawn," Juliet returned, placing a smile onto her face.

"Where's Lassiter?" Shawn asked immediately, looking around and not seeing him. He couldn't have already gone out for a case; Shawn would have passed him in the hall. Plus, since Jules was still here it made that situation extremely unlikely.

"Don't know," Juliet brushed off quickly.

"You have no idea?" Shawn tried again. Just like yesterday, any information she had would be helpful, and he knew she had at least something.

"It doesn't matter," Juliet said. She had planned on explaining, but was interrupted before she could.

"You have to know something," Shawn accused, leaning over the desk to make sure he had her full attention.

"Remember our agreement Shawn?" Juliet scolded. "I'm not helping with anything else until I hear more about that dream."

"Fine, I'll just get Gus to help me," Shawn threatened, straightening up from.

"Gus doesn't want to help you either, Shawn," Juliet replied, pushing her chair away from her desk and standing up. "I can easily talk him out of it," she threatened.

"Don't threaten me with Gus!" Shawn warned back with some amusement. "I can just accuse him of wanting to hear the sex dream too and _snap:_ he's back on my side."

"He doesn't know what direction Lassiter went in though, does he?" Juliet returned, crossing her arms. "Face it Shawn, out of the three of us I know Lassiter the best; you need me."

"I don't _need_ you," Shawn corrected, "You would just be an appreciated source to have, but I can get Lassiter without your help."

"You can't get him _with_ Juliet's help," Gus said, suddenly coming from Shawn's right.

"Guys! What happened to the Three Musketeers? What happened to '… all for one'?" Shawn asked with some disbelief.

"I never remember taking the oath," Gus interjected.

"The dream, Shawn," Juliet answered. "I'm not doing anything without hearing it."

"Fine, we'll go look for him without you," Shawn replied, grabbing Gus's arm and dragging his stuttering and protesting friend behind him.

* * *

Carlton had never slacked off at his job before and found to his intense dissatisfaction that he was very bad at it. Whenever he started to doze he immediately started thinking of past cases or of things he still needed to do. He idly wondered what made Shawn so willing and able to do it before writing the fake psychic off as just a complete nut-job.

It was at that moment that said nut-job decided to burst into the interrogation room Lassiter was currently trying his hardest to take a nap in.

"Carly! I found you!" Shawn announced excitedly, his arms spread wide as he practically leaped into the room..

Gus came in behind him, looking more than a little annoyed with the situation.

"Spencer," Carlton growled. Was it not enough that he _literally_ tried to kill him this morning? Would nothing make this man leave him alone?

"Lassi! You know you almost killed me with your car," Shawn pointed out. "I have to admit, that hurt my feelings deeply, but, luckily, I know the perfect way you can make it up to me."

Guster looked surprised and quite a bit startled, so clearly Spencer hadn't filled his friend in about what had happened this morning. Good. Maybe now that he knew he would force Spencer to leave him the hell alone.

"I don't want to make it up to you, Spencer," Carlton replied when he realized that the fake psychic was waiting for some kind of a response. "In fact, if you so much as come anywhere near me while I'm driving I'm going to try and run you over _again_ , and believe me when I say I won't stop the car until you're lying flat on the road," he growled out between clenched teeth.

"Lassi! That's not really something you want to hear from a cop," Shawn pointed out calmly, clearly not at all shocked by Lassiter's promise (unlike Gus, who was now staring at the detective with wide and disbelieving eyes). "What would Chief Vick say if she knew?"

"Are you trying to _blackmail_ me now, Spencer?" Carlton asked, not very surprised at the thought that the man would stoop to that level. "It won't work. Seeing you dead on the road would make me happy enough to endure any and all punishment I'd receive for murder."

Gus stared at the two men, quickly switching from Shawn to Lassiter and back again. His friend looked smug enough that Gus knew he didn't believe a word of it, but by the look of anger on the detective's face Gus most definitely did. Jumping into action, he pulled Shawn back and out of the interrogation room before he had time to voice a comment that could have very likely had Lassiter pulling out his gun.

Carlton unleashed the smirk that was threatening to burst within him, intensely satisfied when Guster pulled Spencer out of the room. Even though he knew he wouldn't be able to get any sleep the quiet was nice. He would wait a bit before downing a few cups of coffee and getting back to his desk to start his work that wouldn't end until at least six o'clock (longer if they got involved in a case).

* * *

"Gus!" Shawn scolded, annoyed that his friend had pulled him from the room before he could reply back to the detective with the witty comment that was right on his lips.

"What the hell did you do to him, Shawn?" Gus asked in alarm, his eyes wide. "He looked like he was going to pull out his gun and start shooting!"

"Are you afraid for my life Gus? That's so sweet. But I would have been fine; Lassiter's all talk," Shawn insured, still smiling his carefree smile and looking much too relaxed.

"He didn't look 'all talk' Shawn; he looked dangerous and ready to kill. Can you not tell the difference?" Gus snapped. Shawn's dad was a cop; hadn't Mr. Spencer taught him the distinction between the two?

"You just worry too much," Shawn concluded, still not at all convinced that Lassiter could kill him.

"He almost drove you over with his car this morning Shawn!"

"He did not," Shawn scoffed.

"I heard _both_ of you say so. Don't try to convince me I'm just hearing things, because I heard the whole conversation loud and clear," Gus said, most definitely freaking out by now.

"He was just being playful," Shawn shrugged.

"That's not playful, Shawn! That's murderous! And sadistic! And all kinds of other things that a cop should never be!"

"You really think he was serious?" Shawn asked, finally losing his smile if only a little bit.

" _Yes_! Just give up Shawn," Gus tried to convince his friend.

"You're right," Shawn replied quietly, the smile now completely off his face, "maybe I should cut my losses."

"Good," Gus sighed, finally relaxing slightly.

"Gus!" Shawn said, suddenly with mock-anger in his voice. "This isn't the time to be agreeing with me! This is the time to persuade me to continue on with my mission! You just want the money from the bet!"

"Since when is getting Lassiter in bed with you a 'mission'?" Gus asked, deciding to ignore everything else for now and nit pick (that was the only way he had even a chance against Shawn, after all).

"It's not 'getting Lassiter in bed with me'," Shawn argued, "That would be easy; just dump beer down his throat till he couldn't see straight and then jump him. It's 'get Lassiter to like me back, the way I like him', that's much harder to do and doesn't involve much drunkenness at all."

"Well you aren't going to be able to follow through with whatever you're planning because Lassiter's going to kill you first!" Gus pointed out. "Case closed," he stated, walking away in frustration. Maybe if he could get to Juliet first he could convince her to side with him.

* * *

"Shawn! Wouldn't it be best to leave Lassiter alone right now?" Gus asked, worried that his friend would get himself shot soon.

"I'm not going to hit on him this time, Gus," Shawn enlightened, "I'm just here being the psychic. Though now that I'm here I wish I weren't: this case is way too easy."

"So just do one of your visions and let's get the hell outta here," Gus pleaded.

"Nah, this one's an open-and-shut case; Lassiter's got a handle on everything," Shawn argued. "Plus, maybe if he solves the case it'll make him so happy I can talk him into getting drinks."

Gus rolled his eyes as Shawn's ulterior motive came into play; nothing like that was _ever_ going to happen. The only problem was that Shawn wouldn't accept it.

Carlton surveyed the scene, trying to wake himself up enough to solve the case, but it wasn't working. He knew it would have been an open-and-shut case if he were working on a night's sleep, but that was not the situation today, and the case was getting harder to solve as the seconds ticked by. He kept forgetting all the suspects, or he would get the case mixed up with a past case, a case on television he had seen, and even cases that he had made up entirely in his own head.

More unfortunately still was the fact that Carlton knew he could solve this case with some sleep, but he couldn't go home and do just that until the case was solved. It was just about the worst Catch 22[*] he had ever been in.

Over towards the right he could see Spencer, just sitting there and doing nothing. Wasn't he supposed to be snooping or going into convulsions or something? Great. His last … his _very_ last chance wasn't going to work. Spencer wasn't working on this case and he didn't look like he was going to anytime soon. And since Spencer wasn't doing anything, and Juliet was still a little naïve it was up to Carlton, and Carlton couldn't do shit right now.

"Spencer," Carlton forced himself to say, walking over to the other man and trying his best to look less menacing (and failing). "Aren't you going to go into convulsions and act like you just escaped from a mental institute in an attempt to solve this case?" Okay, so he could have asked that a little nicer, but that would have just looked suspicious.

"Nah, this one's all yours," Shawn granted. His mental radar went off and he immediately knew Lassiter wanted his help. The bags under his eyes, trying to nap in an interrogation room, and being even grouchier than normal spoke volumes to Shawn. Obviously the man didn't get enough sleep last night. Shawn just hoped it wasn't anyone that Lassiter had met after he exited the dance club that had kept him up.

"Spencer, solve this case. I know you can and why would you turn down the opportunity to show off?" Carlton forced himself to say. He was so tired and all he could think about was going to bed and sleeping for about a week. He couldn't think in this condition, and he didn't want to make a fool of himself by catching the wrong guy in this case (Spencer already made him look more like a fool than he could stand).

"In an easy case like this? That's kind of overdoing it, don't you think?" Shawn asked in an easy manner.

"I didn't even know you knew the word 'overdoing'," Carlton explained. "You've never seemed to care about your insane behavior before."

"This one's your case, Lassi. I want nothing out of it. It's so easy I'd rather not waste my time on it," Shawn clarified.

"Let's cut the bullshit Spencer," Carlton demanded, tired of running around in circles. "Whenever I ask for your help you immediately jump in no matter what, and you aren't right now. That means you know I can't solve this case in my current condition, and you want something more from me than just acknowledgement that you can solve this case. What else do you want?"

"Oh, I don't know," Shawn shrugged, trying his best to act innocent. "What do you have that I would want?"

 _Me_ , Carlton's brain immediately concluded. "A date," he decided, "You solve this case within five minutes and I'll take you out … wherever you want to go … after work … whatever day you decide." He immediately knew his decision was a completely bad idea by the look of pleasure on Shawn's face, but he was too tired to care at the moment.

One of Shawn's convulsions, an arrest, and a car ride later Carlton was sleeping comfortably in his bed. At that moment he could care less that he was going to be endlessly tortured by Spencer tomorrow for his bargain of choice.

Unfortunately, the newly formed band of teenagers across the street decided to have practice that night too.

From ten o'clock at night to three o'clock in the morning Carlton didn't sleep. He got up from bed and ready for work with only three hours of sleep. He was going to have to move again soon if those kids kept it up.

TBC


	9. Carlton Gets Harrassed

Disclaimer: Oh, I think you can guess, but just in case you can't...I do not own Psych, nor am I making any money off them (that's USA Network's department, my friend). So in case you were thinking about suing, please reconsider.

Pairing: **Shawn/Lassiter** (and I'm going to attempt to make it as canon as possible…cross your fingers for me)

Summary: Carlton Lassiter seemed much too troubled during the ending scene in the finale of season one; I couldn't just leave him like that. Carlcentric  
Notes: This is a story I started writing after the first season's finale that I never finished. Originally it was posted to my LiveJournal account. Now, it's my hope to finish it here. :)

Notes: Sorry! I know it's been awhile! That's what I get for working on multiple works at once. I'll try to do better!

 **Breaking Through The Ice**

 **Chapter Nine: Carlton Gets Harassed**

Shawn had kept up his victory dance until his friend had gone home and for all Gus knew he could still be doing it. So what if Shawn actually got a date with Lassiter? That was the first step of many and with Shawn pushing the way he was he was sure to back track.

What worried Gus the most was Lassiter's ability to kill. He wanted to know if he would ever follow through on his threats or if Shawn was right when he had said he was all talk. With the anxiety crawling in his stomach he had run into Juliet outside the police station and decided to ask her opinion on the matter. After all, she wasn't wrong when she had said that she knew Lassiter best out of all three of them.

"I wouldn't say he was just all talk," Juliet replied to Gus's question, "but I have a hard time believing he'd actually _kill_ Shawn."

"So Shawn _is_ in danger … it's just not as lethal as I thought? How far do you think Lassiter will go?" Gus asked. The anxiety had yet to subside and he was struggling to not clutch his stomach and moan until said anxiety decided to vacate his digestive system.

"It's hard to say. I guess it all depends on how far Shawn goes," Juliet said with a shrug.

"How far will Shawn go?" Gus asked more of himself than Juliet.

"That's more your department," Juliet replied with a frown, thinking the question was directed at her.

"He'll go as far as it takes to make Lassiter break," Gus concluded.

"Then so will Lassiter," Juliet added, her eyebrows raised at Gus.

"They're both stubborn to a fault," Gus pointed out.

"So whose side are we on?" Juliet asked. She wasn't exactly sure how she wanted this to turn out; she wanted Shawn to be happy because he was her friend, she wanted Lassiter to be happy because he was her partner, and she wanted them together entirely for her fan-girl side. But, as things were going, Shawn wouldn't be happy unless he was with Lassiter, and Lassiter wouldn't be happy unless he was far away from Shawn.

"At this point I have no idea. Does Shawn just want Lassiter because he puts up a fight? Does Lassiter just not want Shawn because he feels he's being forced? Is this too dangerous a situation for Shawn to be in? Will them actually being together hurt our work relationship? When they break up will Shawn skip town again?" Gus replied, starting to talk faster as his anxiety got worse. "What if Shawn never gives up and Lassiter actually _does_ kill him? Or what if he hurts him? Or puts a restraining order on Shawn? There's no way we'll be able to solve any cases if Shawn isn't legally allowed around Lassiter! Not that Shawn would ever pay attention to a restraining order, which means he'll go to jail, and then Psych will go under, because we can't be a psychic detective agency without a psychic, and-"

"Gus, calm down," Juliet interrupted, putting her hands up in front of him. "Listen, Lassiter won't listen to you at all, and he probably won't even listen to _me_ if you're there. And you've always been Shawn's anchor. So, let's split up and find out what they really want. You take Shawn, and I'll take Lassiter. Maybe after we talk to them for a bit we can better analyze the situation," Juliet decided strategically.

* * *

Carlton signed some forms and looked up at the clock again. It was already five thirty in the afternoon and a case had yet to pop up, which meant that he was very likely able to go home on time today. Fortunately, he had yet to see Shawn, so, if Carlton was lucky, he hadn't planned their date just yet. Which meant he could just go back to a quiet house and some old cop movies.

The next time he looked up it was because daisies were being shoved in his face.

"Don't shoot at these, okay?" Shawn asked, smiling a light-hearted smile and looking way too smug for his own good.

Carlton's hope of going home and watching movies was immediately crushed.

"You still remember our agreement, right?" Shawn asked with a grin before glancing at his watch. "And by my clock you got off four minutes ago, so let's go."

Carlton grudgingly rose from his desk under Shawn's growing grin. He picked up some folders, ignoring the daisies that Spencer was still holding as he headed out of the office. .

"Carly!" Shawn scolded immediately. "The least you can do is act like you aren't being forced into going on a date with me!"

"I _am_ being forced into going on a date with you," Carlton pointed out, continuing towards the door. He stubbornly ignored the flowers that were now being shoved at the side of his face, courtesy of Shawn who was only half a step behind him.

. while carrying his case files and still ignoring Spencer's flowers.

Even if Shawn didn't have great observation skills he could have seen how tense Lassi was. His back was tensed and the folders he was holding were crumpled under his tense fist. If Shawn was a cautious man he would have given up and tried again on a less tense day. But Shawn wasn't a cautious man, and Lassi was never _not_ tense around him, so he plowed on. "Okay, first off, you made a deal with me: I solve the case, you go on a date with me. I held up my end," Shawn argued pointing to himself before shoving his finger into Lassiter's back. "Second, it was _your_ idea to bargain a date, of all things. _I_ would have just as easily accepted five bucks. Or a pizza."

"You mean, I could have just given you five dollars, and the entire disaster would've been over?" Carlton asked with some disbelief. He was never very good at haggling, sure, but he had thought that he was at _least_ better than _that_.

"Yep, but you jumped immediately to a date, meaning that you have suppressed desires for me that a part of you wants to act on, while the other part of you is holding that other you back," Shawn explained.

"I don't think so, Spencer," Carlton argued, taking in deep breaths in an attempt to quell his rising anger. "The only reason I bargained with a date in the first place was because I knew _you_ would agree to it. I was too tired to try and haggle, and you _knew_ it," he accused.

"Uh-huh, I'm sure," Shawn mock-accepted. "Does make one wonder why you didn't just bargain a kiss, then. You know I would have agreed to that, too, and it would have been a much quicker experience."

"I'd rather not have any physical contact with you," Carlton explained, his voice coming out in a growl. "Truthfully, I don't want to have _any_ contact with you _at all_ , but since I'm forced to spend practically every day with you I've accepted that no contact with you is just a far away dream."

"Lassi-Pants, this is our third date and it's like an unwritten rule that you have to have a good-night kiss on the third date. In other words, you're going to _have_ to have physical contact with me, as per societal norms," Shawn replied, still not sounding deterred in the slightest. .

"If it's not written down somewhere it's not a rule Spencer. It's just something society _expects_ you to do, and if I always followed what society _expected_ me to do I'd be a pot-smoking bum living in my mother's basement," Carlton argued.

"Gotta remember to ask him about _that_ story later," Shawn muttered to himself before poking Lassiter on the shoulder. "Come on, Lassi, you want to go on this date just as much as I do. You're just reluctant to admit it," Shawn claimed with confidence before dashing forward to open the precinct's front door for his date.

"No, I don't," Carlton answered, standing in place and glaring at Shawn instead of stepping through the door.

"Fine, be rude," Shawn said, exaggeratingly tilting his nose in the air and giving a loud huff as he left through the door himself. He silently prayed that the detective would eventually loosen up.

"Where are we going?" Carlton asked, catching the door Spencer had refused to keep open for him as he followed behind the psychic.

"We're going to have to go to a bar first; you need to loosen up," Shawn answered, not bothering to slow down as he walked through the parking lot. "Come on, we'll take my car."

"I'm not going to be riding around in something called the 'Psychmobile', Spencer. No way."

"It's either that or I'm driving your car, because I have a feeling you'll be so drunk you won't be able to drive yourself home," Shawn bargained. "You seem to be drinking your weight in booze whenever I see you on a barstool," he explained further.

"Only because you're around," Carlton replied with a growl.

"I figured it was something like that," Shawn accepted nonchalantly, waving a hand in Lassiter's direction. "Anyway, since this is a date and everything, I'm going to be around the whole time. Past experience says you're going to get very, very drunk."

"Most likely," Carlton admitted, trying hard and failing not to clench his teeth together. .

"But I'm okay with that," Shawn continued with a shrug.. "I mean, people are a lot easier to take to bed with you when they're drunk."

"Spencer, you will _not_ take advantage of me tonight, is that understood?" Carlton snapped, angry and vicious before he forced himself to calm down. This was Shawn, after all; he thrived on Carlton's anger. He forced out a sigh before allowing a compromise. "We'll take your car, but you're dropping me off at my house when this hell is over, I'm not kissing you, and you _aren't_ coming inside," Carlton bargained, already deciding that he wouldn't drink so much as to be left unguarded against Spencer.

"Alright," Shawn agreed, his hands up in surrender. "It's either that or you take your own car and end up crashing into something and dying, right? We can kiss on our fourth date, no matter how old school and controversial _that_ is." He let out an exaggerated sigh. "The things I do for you, Lassi."

"We aren't going to kiss … _ever_ ," Carlton corrected with a glare before getting into Spencer's car and slamming the passenger door shut. He continued talking as soon as Shawn opened his own door. "Not our third date, not our fourth date, not our fifth date, not _ever_ ," he reinforced as Spencer slid into the driver's seat.

"Yeah, yeah," Shawn brushed off. "We'll just see how you feel about kissing me after you fall for my charms." He slid his key into the ignition, waiting until the engine turned over before muttering to himself, "Especially considering you're already planning for two more dates."

"I'm not _falling_ for anything Spencer," Carlton replied, deciding to ignore whatever inane things Spencer was whispering to himself.

"Wow, that's clever Lassi, because it could mean several different things, like how you don't fall for my psychic 'act'," Shawn began, taking his hands off the steering wheel as he backed up just so he could put air quotes around the word 'act'. "Or the more obvious one about falling for my charms. It could even interpreted as-"

"I _know_ , Spencer," Carlton interrupted. "I _am_ the one who said it. You think I'm too stupid to even know the meaning of something I said myself?"

"It was more like I was telling you I got it, rather than proving that you're stupid," Shawn answered, putting his car into drive and pulling out of the parking lot.

"So you were trying to prove that you _aren't_ stupid?" Carlton asked, slightly amused despite himself. Maybe Spencer didn't have all the self-confidence he wanted everyone to believe he had.

"I guess you could say that," Shawn shrugged before quickly changing the subject, "So what bar are we going to? It's your choice."

* * *

"This bar doesn't exactly scream your kind of thing, Lassi-Pants. It's more like the anti-Carlton," Shawn observed as soon as he set foot in the bar.

To call it a bar would be giving it too much credit, if one was being honest. It was more like a run down shack that people hung around at because they had no other place to go. They weren't exactly the most upstanding citizens, either, as far as Shawn could tell. If he had thought the people standing on the lawn for Carlton's awful surprise party were bad … these people were leagues above them in terms of law breaking. … Or leagues below them in being normal humans, depending on how one wanted to look at it.

"That's kind of the point," Carlton admitted, finding himself calmer after the relatively silent car ride. "Who do you think would ever look for me in a place like this?"

"Aw, Carly, you're sharing your secret hide away with me. That's just beyond sweet," Shawn gushed, his fingers laced under his chin as he fluttered his eyelashes at Lassiter.

"I'm hoping one of the bikers playing pool will beat the shit out of you," Carlton grunted out, his calm mood forgotten as he motioned over to a broken down pool table several men in leather were standing around.

"So you can come to my rescue, and I'll fall into your arms proclaiming that you're my hero?" Shawn guessed in his regular, over-eager voice. He followed Lassiter over to the bar that was in a corner of the room when it became apparent the detective had no reply.

All Carlton could do was snort and hope against his nature that he wouldn't get too drunk as he headed to the bar.

"How'd you happen upon this place anyway?" Shawn asked as he popped up at Lassiter's side and started looking around. "You come here to catch a murderer and decide, 'hey, this looks like a nice place to sit down, relax and have a beer in'?" he asked.

"A friend owns it," Carlton explained, finally getting to the bar and tapping on the counter to get the bartender's attention.

Before Shawn could reply and ask Lassiter to elaborate (because, really, who the hell would the detective hang out with that would want to own a shack full of criminals?) the bartender turned around and started talking to Lassiter.

"I thought you weren't ever going to step foot in this place. Didn't you say that being here would be the same as sitting in a packed jail cell?" the woman asked, not at all looking surprised by Carlton's presence.

"A jail cell's starting to look pretty good," Carlton muttered, looking around at all the criminals scattered about the room.

"Hey, you're the one who gave me the money for a down payment on this thing," the bartender said, motioning to the whole room with her hands. "You're practically a partner."

"That was a loan, and don't you dare forget I expect all that money back," Carlton said, pointing at her as he glared..

"Yeah, but you won too, right? I mean your ex-bitch-of-a-wife thought you had a lot less money than you really do, right?" the woman asked with a slight smile. When Carlton was silent she started making her assumptions. "Unless you told her about it … but you can't really be that stupid. It was an under-the-counter loan, no paperwork, no lawyers. If you didn't say anything no one would know."

"I didn't say anything," Carlton assured her. He rubbed at his forehead before adding quietly, "I shouldn't have lied to her though."

"Did she ask you if you gave away thousands of dollars recently? Because if she didn't you never really lied to her," the woman pointed out, shrugging her shoulders as she wiped the bar in front of Carlton down with a dingy towel. "Stop being such a pussy and relax a bit. It's over: you're divorced, and you can let the hunt for a new mate begin. I've gotta tell you though: your truly is already taken," she said, gesturing at herself.

"He already has me," Shawn interrupted, popping down in the bar stool next to Lassiter and throwing his arm around him. "Shawn Spencer. Hi," he greeted with a smile before giving a short wave.

"Sarah," she returned, the small smile that had been on her face turning into a frown.

Luckily Carlton broke the silence and ended whatever awkwardness might have come. "Is that guy in the corner snorting _coke_?" he hissed as he leaned over the counter in order for Sarah to hear him. "Are you breeding criminals in here, or are you just trying to slowly corrupt Santa Barbara?" he snapped, glaring at the woman.

" _Relax_ , Carl," the bartender demanded, pushing Carlton by his shoulders to force him to sit back in his barstool. "You're here to let go of all that for a while. You aren't a cop; you're just an ordinary guy who got a divorce, and who's apparently gay," Sarah said, sending a quick frown in Shawn's direction as she tried to calm the detective down. "You should have really told me about your sexual preferences sooner, you know?" she said, frowning as she looked between the two men. "We could have had a pretty fabulous threesome."

"That's exactly what I think!" Shawn burst out, standing up from his barstool in excitement.

"You looking for it to be all three guys, or two guys and a chick? Because if you're looking for a chick I'm _totally_ into that," Sarah replied, her eyes raised as she gestured to herself once more. .

"Are we forgetting about the criminal busy snorting _coke_?" Carlton snapped, his voice still low even as his anger became apparent. "Not only am I putting my job at risk, but you're putting this building at risk if someone besides me catches him," he warned as he glared at her.

"First off, we didn't forget about him. We're just ignoring him," Shawn explained nonchalantly as he held up on finger to Lassiter's face.

"Second, this building's in a crappy part of town," Sarah replied, following Shawn's lead and holding up two fingers this time. "You're the first cop to walk within even two miles of this place," she pointed out. "Why do you think the coke-head came here in the first place?"

"Get him out of here before I bring him back to the station," Carlton threatened, his voice still low as he clenched his teeth together. .

"Lassi!" Shawn exclaimed, grabbing a hold of the detective's arm. "You can't! It'll completely ruin our date!" he whined.

"Fine, fine, he's leaving, alright?" Sarah answered, holding her hands up in surrender as she walked out from behind the bar. "Jesus, I see you're as uptight as always," she muttered as she continued her path to the cokehead.

"Where'd you meet her?" Shawn asked with wide eyes as he followed her movements. Sarah matched the shack-pretending-to-be-a-bar vibe to a T. She was very much anti-Carlton. In fact, she reminded Shawn of himself, and _that_ just gave him a new wave of hope for he and Carly to be together.

"College," Carlton answered, watching Sarah closely to make sure she really kicked the druggie out. "She only had a nose ring then." [1]

"So she upgraded," Shawn replied, his eyes still wide as he noted the many piercings hanging around Sarah's face: lip piercings, nose piercings, and eyebrow piercings. And that wasn't even mentioning the sleeves of tattoos running down her arms and neck. "How'd you meet her? I really doubt she was in any of your classes."

"Friend of a friend," Carlton replied, looking around the bar for a drink he could confiscate. God damn it, he should have asked for one first thing.

"And do I get the story?" Shawn eagerly asked, leaning closer to Lassiter as if it was a secret they were sharing..

Lassiter tried his best to lean away. "We went on a few dates, decided we really didn't like each other, and went our separate ways," he said in a gruff voice. "I hadn't heard from her until a couple weeks ago when she wanted money for the down payment for this crap hole," he explained. He knew it was foolish, but he hoped that Spencer would be satisfied with that and remain quiet for a few solid minutes. If he could remain silent until Carlton got a full beer in him that would be ideal.

"And you gave it to her? Just like that?" Shawn asked, smashing all of Lassiter's dreams as soon as the first word was out of his mouth. "Isn't that a bit naïve of you?"

Carlton really should have known that he was asking for too much. Shawn was never quiet (except when he was unconscious, which was the only time he was pleasant to be around). It was really his own stupidity in hoping the fake psychic would give him some peace. "It was either give it to her or give it to my wife," Carlton explained, trying hard to not let it show how much it actually affected him. He shrugged his shoulders, trying for nonchalance. "Either way I'd lose it. At least with it going to Sarah I might get some of it back," he said before looking around the place with a deep frown on his face. "Depending on how long the cops will wait before investigating this shithole," he added quietly.

"He's gone," Sarah said, approaching the bar again as she aimed a glare in Lassiter's direction. . "He said he'd make me pay for throwing him out, _by the way_ , so when I get beat up _you_ get to pay my hospital bills," she declared before picking up the dingy towel she had left at the bar and throwing it over her shoulder.

"Ooh! Lassi, it's almost eight!" Shawn declared, leaping out of his seat again in excitement. He grabbed onto Lassiter's arm again as he tried to steer them towards the door. "We've gotta go."

"What's happening at eight?" Carlton asked suspiciously, trying his best to resist Shawn's insistent yanking on his arm. Anything that made Spencer happy was probably going to do the exact opposite for him.

"It's a surprise!" Shawn replied with excitement, giving a stronger yank on his arm to make him stumble out of his ba rseat. He didn't waste any time in pulling Lassiter the rest of the way out of the bar and away from Sarah.

[1] In Lassiter's blog he talks about dating a girl with a nose ring in college. Well, here she is. PLEASE tell me if you hate her … or like her … whatever … just tell me what you think.


End file.
